


After The War

by Name_Pending



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Background Relationships, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Jon Snow is King in the North, Not Season 7 Finale Compliant, Porn with Feelings, Post-Series, Post-Series AU, Queen Daenerys, R plus L equals J, References to Ramsay's Abuse, Sansa Stark is Queen in the North, Season/Series 07 Spoilers, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-18
Updated: 2018-07-17
Packaged: 2018-12-31 09:47:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 32,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12129804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Name_Pending/pseuds/Name_Pending
Summary: A look into the beginning of Jon and Sansa's lives as the King and Queen in the North after the wars are over.





	1. Chapter 1

They were married in the Godswood, with what remained of their family looking on. It bothered both of them that that included Daenerys Stormborn, the dragon queen. She was bright as a flame in the south but in the north she paled next to the northern children, and she knew it. Daenerys had matched her mood to the climate since she arrived in Winterfell.

Arya was a much more welcome presence, the little sister to both the bride and groom, no matter what her relation to the latter might actually be. Arya had barely nodded when she’d learned her bastard brother was really her true-born cousin - to her he was just Jon. It was small wonder that she was the one he had spent most time with after the truth had come out.

It had been Bran that had told him, and Jon had almost hated him for it. He could have lived his entire life without knowing, he had been happy as he was, the bastard King in the North. Still, he knew it was for the best. His blood had been the biggest reason he got along with his aunt, after all.

It was funny, really. When they’d first met, they hadn’t known that they were related, and there had been a few glances between them that had lingered too long. If not for the revelation at the hands of Bran Stark, Jon wondered if he might have tried to form a completely different sort of relationship with his aunt, and he shuddered to think on it. Queen Daenerys was beautiful and fierce, but she was southern. She had grown in the east but she belonged in the south. It was a small mercy that she agreed, and had allowed the north to remain an independent kingdom, albeit with a few conditions.

Jon did not relish the thought of his children going south one day as the heirs to the Seven Kingdoms, but it was worth it to keep the north free. His people were behind him - they would be even more so after today.

It was snowing when Sansa Stark, the Lady of Winterfell, walked down an aisle of northern bodies and southern visitors to greet her future husband. She was escorted by her Uncle Edmure, a concession she allowed out of respect for her mother - she would have liked to escort herself. She would not be sorry to see her uncle return to the Riverlands after the wedding feast.

She didn’t recognise most of her well-wishers; many were visitors and lesser lords from the south, and she had small love for them. The bulk of the guests shivered in their finery as she passed, and a few glared at the northern queen that she was about to become. Daenerys had been happy with the deal that her nephew and his bride would provide heirs for her, but several southern lords scorned at the idea of a king who was born in the north.

The northern lords were far more tolerable, although she knew very few of them well. A great many men had perished in the last battle against the Others, and many northerners had been amongst the fallen. The heads of the Glovers and the Manderlys were just some of newfound lords.

All the northern lords and ladies, old and new, bowed their heads in respect to her. She graced most of the with a glance, and couldn’t stop herself from smiling at young Lady Lyanna Mormont, who stood out from the crowd with just her presence. It was a far happier walk towards her new husband than her previous two attempts.

This time there were no smirking southern lords. There was no monster awaiting her at the end of her walk. This time there was only Jon, and although he may not set her heart aflame his mere presence screamed 'safe' to her.

Jon was dressed in the colours of House Targaryen at his aunt’s insistence, but the cloak he held in his arms was one of House Stark. Sansa had flatly refused to be draped in the dragon’s colours - she was a Stark no matter what, and so was Jon for that matter.

It did not seem to have dawned on the dragon queen, Sansa had noticed, that nobody but her called Jon by his true name. Daenerys had adopted the name Aegon Targaryen with relish, rejoicing her blood relative as soon as he had assured her he had no intention of claiming the Iron Throne she wanted so badly. Everyone else, though, continued to call him Jon, although the name ‘Snow’ was quickly dropped in favour of ‘Targaryen’.

Jon himself didn’t seem inclined to accept the new surname or the titles that accompanied it, but he answered to it. Sansa hadn’t been surprised at that; Jon was always dutiful. It almost surprised her to learn that he entirely rejected the name ‘Aegon’ and refused to answer to it - she wondered if it was just that he didn’t know how to or that he held firmly to the name that was given to him by Eddard Stark.

No matter his blood, Sansa knew that her father would always be his father, too. She was entirely at peace with that. After all, when they exchanged the words, Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark would become her father and mother by law. Ned Stark would become Jon’s father by law, so it made no sense for him to begin thinking of him as anything else.

She did have to smile at the thought that Jon Snow had somehow wound up as the son by law to Catelyn Stark. She wondered sometimes what her mother would have said about this entire situation - about the Walkers and the dragon queen, about Jon’s parentage and their marriage.

She’d have had some choice words for both of them, no doubt. Everyone seemed to.

Arya had accepted it with some difficulty. The younger Stark was difficult to read these days, and had been confused by the thought that Jon could ever marry someone who’d been his sister growing up.

It had been Sansa who had eventually talked her round. She had explained that the bond Arya shared with Jon growing up was something Sansa had never known; Jon had been a blight on her mother’s honour and as she’d grown, she had acted accordingly. They had never been close as children, they had never shared a strong sibling bond the way he and Arya had. Their new relationship might be difficult at first, but she was sure that it could grow into a successful marriage. It was an awkward discussion, but Arya agreed to let them be.

Sansa wondered what Bran would have said.

She wished that he were here now. She would have far preferred him to accompany her on her wedding walk.

Everyone had celebrated the destruction of the Night King, and few had celebrated with more gusto than the northerners whose land had seen the beginnings of the ravaging and decay he brought with him. But his end had been bittersweet for Jon, Sansa and Arya, who had all been forced to watch as their brother gave his life for the living. It was something she didn’t truly understand, but she knew that they had won. She knew that Bran’s sacrifice was worth it, no matter how badly she missed her brother.

She had no brothers now, just one sister. And one cousin, who was about to become her husband.

Sansa allowed her Uncle Edmure to guide her to the people waiting at the end of their path. Here stood the most honoured guests, in positions of importance right before the bride and groom.

Queen Daenerys was there, dressed in the colours of her House and wearing a broach of three dragons - the only dragons that remained to her now. She smiled at the woman about to become her nephew’s bride, but Sansa could read people well enough now to know that the dragon queen’s smile was empty and bitter. She would leave as soon as the marriage was made.

The living Lannisters were there, too, in honoured positions that most northerners begrudged them. Lord Tyrion gave Sansa a kind smile, and she returned it; he had always been kind to her, and had already told her that he hoped this marriage would be better for her than the one she’d shared with him. Ser Jaime smiled, too, though the smile she returned to him was colder. She respected Jaime Lannister for bringing the Lannister forces to their side and for slaying his wicked sister, but she still did not trust him the way she had come to trust Tyrion.

Arya was there, of course, looking more like a lady than she had since she was a child. Sansa had begged her sister to wear a dress to the ceremony, and to her great surprise Arya had agreed. The dress was rather plain for the wedding of the King in the North and the Lady of Winterfell, but it was a tremendous effort for Arya Stark, and Sansa greatly appreciated it.

Brienne, too, had forced herself into a dress for the occasion, with a great deal less fuss than Arya. The dress had been made specially for her, and although Sansa knew her brave knight was uncomfortable in it, she knew just as well that Brienne looked stunning in the cut that had been tailored to her body. She knew also that she was not the only one who had noticed, and it amused her to think that Brienne of Tarth was the woman who would make an honest man out of Jaime Lannister. She looked forward to their wedding, much as she was dreading the journey to Casterly Rock - it would take place a few moons from now.

Many others crowded round behind the honoured guests as Edmure Tully kissed his niece's cheek - she wished he hadn’t, she had no love for this man and wondered if her mother’s memory was worth his quite unwanted presence here - and bowed to her new husband before taking his place among the guests. He had been purposefully told to stand behind Daenerys, Arya and Tyrion - they would always take priority, for varying reasons - and also behind Jaime, a courtesy she afforded out of love for Brienne.

Now, as she finally faced Jon, Sansa let herself smile for real. Somehow it gave her strength to know that she was the composed one, the one who smiled with confidence and certainty. Jon looked stunning tonight in his Targaryen colours, but his expression was panicked and his hand almost trembled where it laid upon the cloak he would wrap around her shoulders.

Sansa reached out and placed her hand on his in reassurance.

Together they had led the northern forces against the Night King and they had brokered peace with the dragon queen. The north was finally at peace, and it was all because of them. If they could do that and survive, then they could do anything.

Marriage was its own sort of challenge, but Sansa was certain they were up to it. Jon might have been less so, but she knew she could convince him with time.

And so she ensured that she stood tall when he wrapped her in the Stark cloak and that her voice was strong as she said the words. She did not let her gaze fall from his eyes, not until she closed them so their lips could meet in a timid, chaste kiss.

It was their first kiss. Jon had been adamant that he would not kiss her until their wedding ceremony, not wanting to rush any aspect of their new marriage, and although both had known it was coming, it somehow still shocked them. Their marriage was based on politics, strength and trust, not romance or love, but they had agreed to it all the same.

After all, they had grown into their roles as the rulers of Winterfell. Now it was time to grow into their roles as King and Queen of the North.

And Sansa couldn’t say that it didn’t amuse her to know that in this, she would have to take the lead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This'll obviously be Jon/Sansa-centric, but there will be background pairings and characters involved. 
> 
> If there's any preference for background relationships or any characters' fates you want included, feel free to let me know in a comment and I'll try to work it in :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter gets a bit more mature. 
> 
> There are references in this one to Sansa's experiences with Ramsay (not graphic, but still mentioned), so please proceed with caution if that sort of thing might bother you.

Jon might have led them into battle, but it was Sansa who led the way to their marriage bed. After the wedding feast was over and the two had both danced with as many lords and ladies as they could bear, they retired to the Jon’s bedchamber.

The two left the room together, and they left calmly. There had been talk of a bedding ceremony when the union had first been announced, but Sansa had firmly refused it and had forbidden any discussion of it at the feast. Jon had backed her on that without her asking him to - he understood that she had scars left over from her marriage to Ramsay Bolton.

Now he would get to see the physical scars, too. She was a little nervous about that; she couldn’t mask them the way she could the emotional scars left over from Ramsay.

Somehow it helped to know that Jon had scars too.

The two stood for a moment in the bedchamber and simply looked at one another, and the atmosphere was a little awkward now that they were alone.

“Would you like a drink?” Jon asked, breaking the tension, and he poured two cups of wine without waiting for a reply. He drained half of one in a single gulp before he handed the second to her. “You do know, Sansa … we don’t have to...”

“Yes we do” she interrupted, sipping her wine half-heartedly.

It wasn’t up for discussion, and it wasn’t something they could postpone. For one thing, the sooner they got the first bedding out of the way, the easier it’d be; she didn’t want to build it up in her head to become something she would either fear or ultimately be disappointed in.

More importantly, though, there was the need for an heir. They had both entered the marriage knowing that their most important duty would be to provide heirs to both the north and the south. Queen Daenerys would one day come to select her heir, and their eldest son would be the future King in the North. It was a mercy, they both knew, that the dragon queen wanted to have her pick of heirs. She would let them have a few children before she attempted to make her choice, and she would be taking only her own heir south to mentor.

It wasn’t something either of them looked forward to, losing a child they did not yet have to the south and to the dragon queen. But it was the price they had agreed to pay for the safety of the north.

Still, for it to be possible, those heirs needed to be born in the first place, and that wasn’t going to happen while they both stood here, facing one another and clutching cups of wine, neither totally sober but both fully dressed.

Sansa turned her back to Jon and started removing her elegant white gown. It had taken the help of three handmaidens to get her into it, but she didn’t fancy calling any of them to help with the process now.

“Undo the laces at the back, Jon.”

She heard him drain the wine in one drink and put the cup down before her new husband stepped over to her, and she pretended that the wine was the reason his fingers shook slightly as they pulled at the laces on her dress. He was very gentle but a little clumsy with it, but she didn’t mind - she never wanted to wear this awful dress again.

He had the dress undone quickly, and Sansa shrugged out of it carelessly. Part of her wondered if she ought to move with seductive grace for him but she didn’t bother. After all, he might be the dragon queen’s heir - until their children were born, at least - and the King in the North, but he was still just Jon, who she had known all her life. He wasn’t judging her, and she wasn’t surprised that that thought alone made her feel more safe than even the walls of her childhood home around them.

It did bother her, though, that when she turned around in nothing but her undergarments, he was still fully dressed before her. She felt all the more exposed because he wasn’t.

She swallowed hard as she reached to start undoing his clothes - after Ramsay, undressing a man was something she had come to associate with pain. It had been one of his games, to get her to slowly remove his clothes and lick the bared skin. He’d then done the same to her, only his licks always became bites, and they were never as painful as what came after…

She blinked hard to clear her head of the memories. This wasn’t Ramsay, this was Jon, and he would never hurt her like that. Jon would never play games like that. He was the furthest thing from Ramsay she could possibly find.

And yet it still surprised her when his hand gently closed around her wrist.

“I’ll do it, Sansa” he said softly. “You don’t have to do this.”

Sansa wanted to argue but instead she simply nodded and sat down on the edge of the bed, watching as Jon removed his clothes until he stood in only his own smallclothes. His bare chest was covered in the deep scars that had once taken his life, and she was oddly reassured by them.

If he could show her those horrible things, she could show him her own scars.

She removed the remainder of her clothes, all but her most intimate smallclothes, and forced herself to look at Jon’s face as he saw for the first time the scars that marred the skin of her chest, her arms and her legs.

The marks were faded now, she knew, the swelling gone and the redness far less noticeable. Most of them would, in time, fade into nothing, but there were a few that she knew would never go away completely. She would carry scars that Ramsay had created for his pleasure for the rest of her life on her body.

But she would not let the scars he’d left on her soul become permanent.

When she’d first escaped Winterfell, she had been sure that the damage he had done to her was irreversible. Even after she’d watched as his own hounds ripped him apart, Sansa had known that this was as free as she would ever get, and it wasn’t enough. The scars were always going to be there, even if he wasn’t.

Now, though, standing before her new husband, she found within herself a new determination not to let these scars rule her. Maybe the physical marks would never fade completely, but the emotional ones would heal. Not tonight, she knew, but they would heal. She would force them to heal, even if it took her the rest of her life.

That was a mission for her whole life, though. For now, her mission was just to get Jon to stop looking so afraid.

“I know they’re ugly” Sansa said, and her voice was strong - she wasn’t nearly as insecure as her words made her sound. “You’ll forgive me for them, I’m sure.”

“There’s nothing to forgive” Jon said, and they both smiled at the repeated words. He’d said the same when they’d first reunited at Castle Black. “I hope you don’t mind my...”

“They suit you.”

She was surprised that she meant it. Scars did suit Jon, though. A king should have scars. Jon had suffered in so many ways to get to where he was now, physically and emotionally; it was only right that he have the battle wounds to show for it. She knew that he wished they had been won in battle and not treachery, but nobody knew better than she did that the past could not be changed.

They would move on together, and that had to start right now.

“Come sit with me.”

Jon did as she asked, joining her on the bed with only a little space between them. “Sansa, I know we have to … but we don’t have to start tonight.”

“I know” she said, though she didn’t agree. “But I think we should all the same.”

“Are you sure?”

She wasn’t, really, and she had a strong feeling that he wasn’t either. But she wanted to get this first time over with, she had to know what it was going to be like. After her past experiences, she wasn’t expecting much pleasure, but she was praying that with Jon there would be only minimal pain.

“Yes” she said. “You’re not a virgin, are you?”

Jon shook his head, cheeks colouring very slightly. “No.”

“That’s good. A friend once told me that we women are complicated, and pleasing us takes practice.” A smile crossed Sansa’s face at the memory before she sobered. “I am, though.”

“You’re what?”

“A virgin.” She took his hand and held it tightly. “As far as I’m concerned, what happened before didn’t count. I’m a virgin on my wedding night, and you’ll be my first.”

Jon’s eyes softened and a tender smile crossed his face, and he nodded in acceptance of the gift she was offering him. He had the grace not to argue with her or contradict her.

Still, he hesitated to initiate anything beyond squeezing her hand.

It looked like she really was going to have to take the lead in this marriage, and Sansa was almost surprised that she was rather enticed by the idea.

She leaned forward to kiss him, timidly at first but then with more pressure as she grew bolder. It was very strange, kissing Jon. With Joffrey, Ramsay and Petyr, she had never been the one in control, but she certainly was now. Jon only responded to her touch. He didn’t even attempt to part his lips until she used her own to force his open.

He responded heartily enough, though she could feel the underlying hesitation. He tasted like uncertainty and wary anticipation, but he felt safe, and Sansa used the feeling of safety and control to push herself to take his hand and guide it to her breast.

She felt the sharp intake of his breath as Jon’s hand naturally cupped her breast, massaging slightly out of instinct. It felt neither good nor bad at first; at least it wasn’t painful. But as Jon’s instincts began to kick in and his fingers dragged over her nipples, Sansa felt a warmth begin to build inside her.

It wasn’t long before she found herself on her back, Jon’s body blanketing hers as his lips worked at her neck. She closed her eyes to focus on the feeling of his tongue tracing her skin, down her neck and across both her breasts, lower down until his lips were below her naval. Then she opened her eyes when he stopped, and found that he was looking up at her.

He was struggling with this, she realised automatically - he looked half aroused and half disgusted, and she knew that the disgust was all aimed at himself.

It didn’t surprise her at all. She had been the one to suggest their union and she had dragged him through the preparations, assuring him all the while that their shared childhood would not hinder their future relationship. She’d said it all with so much certainty that she had actually convinced herself, but she saw now that he was not so sure.

“Come here” she whispered, and he lay beside her, facing her on the bed. She missed the warmth of him immediately but didn’t try to pull him back. “We need only consummate it tonight.”

Sansa didn’t look away as she slid her fingers down to remove the little clothing she still wore, and she motioned for him to do the same. Their gaze did not falter until both lay completely undressed on the bed, touching only at the shoulders and hands.

Jon moved first, reaching over to grab a fur and drape it over their bodies. He knew already that it would be easier to go through with the act if he couldn’t see as much of her. Still, once they were covered and his hand found its place once again on her breast, he found that his earlier momentum had died.

Sansa’s hadn’t, though. With a courage she found only in the safety of knowing that this man would not hurt her, she pulled Jon over her and reached down to hold him in her hand, drawing strength from the pleased gasp he let out.

The feel of a man was something Sansa was not truly in any hurry to relive, but truthfully this felt entirely different to when she was with Ramsay. Ramsay had made her sit so her face was level with his manhood, had made her do things to him that had revolted her - she was sure that she would never be able to use her mouth on Jon. Thankfully the creation of heirs would never need that anyway.

Jon, though, remained still, and in the dying fire’s light she saw that his eyes were closed. He wasn’t ordering her around or forcing her to do anything; he was simply waiting to see what she would choose to do. At last she had control, and it gave her the courage to move her hand.

Jon’s eyes were clenched shut and his face was at her neck, rigid at first but then his lips moved over the skin there. It took only a few moments before his mind was far enough away that he was able to move his own hand down to her womanhood.

She faltered then, her hand stilling and her whole body tensing up.

Jon pulled away instantly, holding himself over her and looking at her with so much concern that she almost felt bad about her reaction. She would have felt terrible with another man, but she knew that Jon understood why she was wary of a man’s hand down there.

She knew he would stop instantly if she asked him to. He wouldn’t do anything to hurt her.

She smiled, drew a deep breath, and took his hand. She guided his fingers between her legs.

“You won’t hurt me” she murmured, removing her own hand.

Jon gulped but held her gaze. “If it hurts, tell me.”

“Jon...”

“I mean it” he said. “I won’t hurt you.”

With watery eyes, she replied, “I know you won’t.”

Still looking concerned, Jon slowly slid his fingers between her legs. It felt odd and she felt the familiar fear wash over her, but the pain Sansa had come to expect with such intimacy did not come. Her heart beat furiously in her chest as Jon’s fingers touched her most sensitive area, but they didn’t enter. Instead they slid upwards until they rested over a slightly different area, and only there did he apply pressure.

It felt odd, but good. Ramsay had never touched her there - she hadn’t even known that area could respond to a man the way she could feel herself responding to Jon. The more she calmed herself, the better it felt.

This had the potential to feel incredible, she was sure. Right now she was too wound up, the memories of worse times too fresh, and she was so focused on keeping calm and relaxing her body that it was taking her out of the moment. Still, it felt nice, and it reassured her greatly to know that Jon would entirely ignore his own pleasure in favour of giving her hers.

This relaxed her, but she was all too aware that their heirs wouldn’t be born from this. She reached down to still his hand.

“Are you okay?” he asked. His concern touched her more deeply than his fingers had. “Did I hurt you?”

“No. I’m not that breakable, Jon.” She forced herself to meet his eyes. “Are you ready? We should...”

Jon bit his lip and looked away, and Sansa could tell that he was ashamed that he needed no preparation. The hardness at her hip told her as much. Jon’s eyes were closed as he moved in between her legs and gently slid two fingers inside her.

She clenched around them, memories almost flooding her mind, but she forced them away. Ramsay had never touched her so carefully, Jon wasn’t like him. He would not hurt her. She forced her body to relax, and found that it was only her fear that made this ever so slightly painful. Jon was taking the greatest possible care, and the way he looked at her told her that he was ready to move away completely at the first sign he’d hurt her.

Sansa let his fingers move inside her for a few minutes, letting herself relax and get used to the feeling. She braced herself mentally before she finally told him to begin, and she took in a deep breath as she felt him line himself up with her.

Jon looked worried, horrified, guilty and very aroused as he pushed forward just enough to breach her so he could remove his hand. Then he met her eyes and silently asked her permission.

Tears nearly sprang forth at the thought of a man who would ask permission before taking her, and she was suddenly completely confident that this marriage could work. Perhaps they would never have a life of great passion and love like in the songs, but they had trust and respect and safety, and Sansa knew what was more important.

She pushed her hips up, feeling him slide in further. Her body stretched naturally around him, and although she was still a little too tense and it hurt a small bit, she knew that she was in control. She could pull away at any time and he’d let her. She kept going, nervously cupping his rear to pull him into her, grateful that he simply let her.

Jon was fully within her body before she realised it, and she felt a great sense of power knowing that she had put him there.

Finally he moved within her, and as he did Sansa closed her eyes and prayed to the old gods and the new that his seed would quicken within her. After all, the whole point to this was for them to have the children the Seven Kingdoms so desperately needed.

Just because this experience was turning out to be on a completely different level to anything she had ever experienced before didn’t mean that Sansa was entirely comfortable with it yet. She hoped that she would conceive tonight, then she and Jon could take their relationship at a far slower pace.

She knew that he would do whatever she wished, and prayed that they could take the time they both needed after this night. If they made an heir tonight, then they could forget about beddings for a while and focus on building a new relationship as husband and wife, as king and queen of the north. The beddings could follow after, once both were more settled in their new relationship, once her scars had healed a little more.

The beddings could become very enjoyable, she was sure, with a little time and practice. They’d be better after the first babe, after they were not under so much pressure. They’d get easier with every babe…

Sansa was so deep in her own thoughts, her body working by itself with Jon’s, that the peak of her pleasure caught her completely off guard, and she let out a surprised moan. She clutched at Jon’s shoulders, and she came back to herself in time to feel his whole body tense with a groan as he spilled within her.

After he pulled out of her quickly and lay beside her, breathing heavily and looking away. The shame rolled off him in waves, but Sansa couldn’t bring herself to share it with him. Shame was lost on her these days, and with time she was sure that whatever troubled Jon about their relationship could be mended.

She was proud of him. He had sacrificed a lot tonight; he’d been uncomfortable with this, and had gone along with it and taken care of her. If it had not been for the talk they’d had the night before, she would have been worried that he felt used, but thankfully that had already come up.

The night before they had talked in great depth about the bedding, and Sansa had asked Jon if he could go through with it.

“If you can’t, you should tell me now, and we can rethink this whole plan” she had told him. “I need you to be completely honest with me now, Jon.”

And he had been. He’d revealed his concerns about the possibility of their marriage being happy, given their shared childhood. He’d revealed his fears about hurting her. And finally, with red cheeks and a pained expression, he’d told her that he found her beautiful and that he would certainly be able to perform, and he’d revealed that it terrified him.

“It doesn’t terrify me” she had reassured him. “It gives me hope.”

It did give her hope, and right now it also gave her reassurance. Jon may be unsettled, but he was far from unwilling. Their relationship was new, uncertain, and he was not secure in it yet, but he would be in time. So would she.

This was the first night, and it marked the turning point in their lives. From now on, they would work together to create a bright future, for the north and for themselves.

And when Jon asked her if she wanted him to leave, Sansa heard in his tone that he didn’t really want to, and she settled the furs over them both in answer.


	3. Chapter 3

Most newly wed ladies would expect a great fuss to be made of them as they adjusted to life in their new home with their new husband, but that was not the case for Sansa Stark. She had grown up in Winterfell and knew how to manage it, and both she and Jon were too busy to even pretend to make a fuss of one another.

In the week that followed their wedding ceremony, Jon was kept incredibly busy with ushering the northern lords and the southern guests back to their own holdfasts. His duties as King in the North kept him working long into the night, and he would retire to his own bedchamber long after Sansa had retired to her own.

Sansa tended to wake earlier than he did, though. She busied herself every day with maintaining the castle and entertaining the remaining guests. She’d hoped that they would all just disappear after the wedding, but that wasn’t the case.

Her Uncle Edmure had thankfully left now, as had most of the northern lords. It took several days, but the southern lords slowly took their leave. None in the north were truly sorry to see them go.

Queen Daenerys had left for King’s Landing the day after the wedding, departing with the promise that she would be back to visit soon enough. Both Jon and Sansa understood the subtle warning behind it - the dragon queen was watching their every move and didn’t plan to just sit in the south and ignore them. It was a reminder that she wanted her heir.

At least she’d left, though, which was more than could be said of the Lannisters.

Tyrion’s presence was not unwelcome. He gave excellent advice to Jon and was always kind to Sansa; he was complimentary of both.

Jaime, however, was a shadow in their household. Most people still called him the kingslayer - some had added kinslayer and queenslayer after what he had done to Cersei - and few actually trusted him. Jon was relatively comfortable around him, knowing that if anyone in the castle would never judge him for his marriage to his cousin, it was Jaime Lannister.

Sansa was less comfortable. While some of her distrust lingered from knowing what he had done to her family in the past, she knew that what really bothered her was that Jaime was taking Brienne from her.

Brienne was Sansa’s personal knight in shining armour - not what she’d imagined as a child, but better than any fairytale knight could have hoped to be. She was Sansa’s protector and confidant, and now that she was set to marry Jaime Lannister, she would be going south to live with him at Casterly Rock.

After Jaime had left the southern King’s Guard, he had taken his place at last as Lord of Casterly Rock. Despite her sadness at losing Brienne, it amused Sansa to know that she was the future Lady of the Rock. Brienne had always been adamant that she was not a lady, and now there would be no arguing about it.

Sansa wished her well, of course. She knew that Brienne loved Jaime, even if she didn’t really understand why. Brienne had kept her oath to Sansa’s mother and had served both herself and Arya throughout the war, and now she was free to live her life for herself. She had even got down on her knee and asked for both Stark sisters’ permission before she accepted Jaime’s proposal of marriage. Arya had given it freely, Sansa hesitantly.

She hated the thought of being without her brave protector, but it was alright. She had Jon now, and he was sworn to protect her. She would miss Brienne, but she was glad that there was still love in the world. She might not have true love and passion with Jon, but she was glad that Brienne had found it.

The sight of her leaving with Jaime was going to hurt, though, she was certain. It was enough to have her keen to make the elder Lannister feel welcome at Winterfell; the happier he was there, the longer he and Brienne would stay.

The two Lannister brothers, though, were the only people Sansa was happy to have remain at Winterfell. There were still a few southern lords and ladies lingering in the north, and she wanted them gone as soon as possible.

/

Eight days after her wedding ceremony, Sansa stood outside the castle, waving off some of the last guests. At her side was Tyrion Lannister, who was dressed warmly for his journey south. He would be leaving today.

They waited until Lord Graceford and his men were out of earshot, and then Tyrion muttered “and good riddance”, and the two shared a sly smile.

Tyrion wandered in the general direction of his horse, and Sansa walked with him.

“I’m sorry to see you go, Lord Tyrion.”

“Now, my lady, haven’t I told you a thousand times to drop the formality?”

Sansa smiled genuinely at the dwarf. “I’ll drop the formality when you stop calling me queen, my lord.”

Tyrion smirked at her and bowed in good humour. “My queen.”

It wasn’t true, of course - she wasn’t his queen. Tyrion was still Hand of the Queen to Daenerys Targaryen, and he bent the knee to no other ruler. He was a true friend now to both Jon and Sansa, but his loyalty lay with the dragon queen.

Still, he respected their positions as king and queen of the north. The joking exchange of titles between the two was welcomed banter, and Sansa was glad that she could laugh this way with Tyrion, who had always shown her kindness.

If only he had not sworn himself to Daenerys; Sansa would have liked to have him in the north.

“Will you visit with Queen Daenerys when she comes?”

Tyrion took her hand and kissed it. “I think I might.”

“Might what?”

The two looked up at the sound of the new voice, and saw Jon smiling at them both.

“Jon” Sansa nodded in greeting. “I was just saying that Lord Tyrion should come and visit us again soon.”

“Aye. You’d be welcomed here again, my lord” Jon said.

“Thank you, Jon” Tyrion grinned. “I must say, the charms of the north have grown on me lately.”

“It’s the lack of white walkers” Jon laughed.

“That is true” Tyrion nodded, both he and Sansa smiling along with Jon.

The King and Queen in the North accompanied Tyrion as he readied his horse, and waved him off with well wishes. Both were unafraid to admit that they were truly sorry to see him go, and Sansa took Jon’s arm as they watched the dwarf and his men depart for the capital.

“I’m surprised Jaime didn’t go with him” Jon murmured, as the two turned to go back inside.

“I doubt he wants to leave Brienne” Sansa smiled. “Besides, he’s heading to Casterly Rock. Tyrion’s not.”

“I know. Still, much as I like having Tyrion around, I’ll be glad when they’re all gone.”

“So will I.”

But would she really?

Of course, the simple answer was yes - she really did want to rid the north of all these southern lords, and now that only a few lingered behind she was growing politely impatient with the stragglers. Yet she was wary of what would come when they had all gone.

With no more guests to entertain and endure, she and Jon would be left alone, the rulers of the castle and the north. There would be no more distraction from their duties, from their marriage.

It wasn’t lost on either of them that although their wedding night had gone as well as could be expected, little had changed after it. She and Jon were not sharing a bedchamber, no kisses had been exchanged, and they had not lain together as man and wife since the first bedding.

It wasn’t surprising, but it was nonetheless disappointing.

Jon almost acted as if he was praying that Sansa would already be with child, and they could forget for the next nine moons that the bedding had ever happened. In a way, Sansa agreed with him. It would be a lot easier to be able to pretend, but it wouldn’t do them any good.

Even if she was already pregnant, future beddings were inevitable. They needed more than just one child.

And if she was honest with herself, she wanted a real marriage.

Since the revelation that Jon was in fact her cousin, not her half-brother, she had found it easier than most to cast him in his new role. Her cousin, the Targaryen prince. Sansa knew that it was mostly because it removed any blight against her father’s honour, and because she and Jon had never shared a close sibling bond the way he and Arya had. Arya had accepted that Jon was her cousin, but their bond remained close as siblings regardless.

Sansa wanted their bond to grow closer now, and to grow in the way that it should. No matter what had happened in the past, they were husband and wife now. She knew that Jon was struggling with this whole situation more than she was, but she also knew that she could help him overcome any doubts he had.

She had been a terrible half-sister to him when they were children. She had never really got the chance to just be a close cousin to him. But now she was his wife, and she was going to prove that she could be the best wife, the best queen, that the north had ever seen.

Maybe she and Jon had no real passion or love yet, but she knew that she’d always regret it if she didn’t try to make the best out of this. At the very least, they had to be realistic and honest.

And so as Jon and Sansa turned into an empty hall in Winterfell, Sansa stopped, her hand on Jon’s arm forcing him to stop as well.

“Sansa?”

“Do you think I’m with child, Jon?” she asked bluntly.

Jon seemed taken aback by the question. “Well, I … I’d like to think so. But it’s too early to tell, isn’t it?”

“It is, but it’s unlikely.” Sansa reached out and took his hand. “One bedding is unlikely to result in a babe, Jon. We need to try again.”

Jon gently pulled his hand away. “Why don’t we wait and see first?”

“We can’t do that every month” Sansa said firmly. “Besides, the more familiar we are with it, the easier it’ll be for both of us.”

“It didn’t seem easy last time.”

Sansa smiled at his kindness; even now Jon was concerned about hurting her. The morning after their wedding, Jon had asked her if she was alright, if he’d hurt her, and he’d only stopped looking so scared when she’d reassured him profusely that he hadn’t. It was still unfamiliar to Sansa to have a man care so much for her where beddings were concerned, but she wanted it to become as natural as breathing.

“It was the first time, Jon” Sansa said softly, moving forward to lean against her husband and wrap her arms around his waist. “It will get better.”

Jon’s arms came around her hesitantly, but they were strong and gentle around her. “How can you be sure?”

“Because it’s you.”

She felt Jon’s breath hitch more than she heard it, and she closed her eyes as she felt his arms tighten around her.

“You still have to tell me, Sansa” Jon said, in a voice that left no room for argument. “If I hurt you. If I do anything you don’t like, I need you to tell me.”

“I will” she said, and she meant it. She would never let a man use her again. “But you won’t.”

Jon nodded. “Tonight, then?”

“Tonight.”

And before the two turned to go their separate ways - they still had some southern guests to entertain, after all - Sansa leant up to press her lips to Jon’s. Jon froze momentarily, probably out of sheer surprise, but then his hand was cradling her jaw and his mouth was moving against hers.

Sansa relaxed into the kiss, and for the first time in a week she truly felt like a newly married woman.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So at the moment this is still Sansa-centric, but Jon will come more into focus as it goes on. Apologies for the slow build, think this could be a semi-long story! ^.^


	4. Chapter 4

Five days later, Sansa awoke in her bedchamber to the usual smells and sounds of a morning in Winterfell. She was alone, and took advantage of the space to stretch her stiff limbs.

She and Jon were not yet sharing a bedchamber, but this didn’t bother Sansa. In the past five days, she and Jon had gone to bed together twice, and on both nights they had remained in the one bed until morning. With time, she knew that they could progress to spending every night together, but for now she was content to know that regular beddings were happening, and that neither felt the need to leave afterwards.

Sansa was in a good mood while she stretched and slowly awoke, until she realised what day it was.

Today was the day that Jaime Lannister was leaving for Casterly Rock, and taking his future bride with him. It soured her mood instantly.

Today Brienne would be leaving her service to become the future Lady of the Rock. Brienne had found genuine love and appreciation in Jaime Lannister, and while Sansa knew that she deserved all of it, she still hated that the Rock was so far from Winterfell.

Losing Brienne as a protector was something she would get over; she had plenty of protectors here, especially in Jon and Arya. Losing Brienne as a friend and confidant, however, filled her with a profound sense of loss. It hung like a gloomy cloud over her as she readied herself for the day.

She was almost fully dressed when there came a knock at her door, and she paused in doing up the laces at the front of her dress.

“Who is it?”

“Brienne of Tarth, my lady” Brienne’s voice answered.

Sansa smiled fondly - Brienne could have just said “it’s me” and Sansa would have known, but she always announced herself formally out of respect. Gods, but Sansa was going to miss her.

“Come in, Brienne.”

Brienne entered and shut the door behind her. “Forgive the interruption, my lady.”

“There’s nothing to forgive. You’re always welcome, Brienne” Sansa smiled. “Help me with my laces.”

With a slight smile the older woman stepped behind Sansa and began doing up the awkward laces at the back of her dress. Her fingers were nimble from the practice of helping Sansa into such dresses over their time together - since Ramsay, Sansa disliked being touched by anybody she didn’t trust, and Brienne had taken to helping her.

She didn’t have to. She was Sansa’s protector, not her handmaiden, and yet she did as she was asked every time and never seemed to resent her for it. Brienne seemed to understand even without being told all the details, and Sansa adored her for it.  

“You know that I meant it, don’t you?” Sansa murmured now.

“Meant what, Lady Sansa?”

“That you’re always welcome here” Sansa said, waiting in impatient silence until Brienne had finished so she could turn to face her. “I swore once that you’d always have a place at my table. That doesn’t end just because you’re going south.”

Brienne stared down at her, touched by the sentiment. “Lady Sansa...”

“I’m going to miss you, Brienne.”

She thought she might have caught the glimpse of tears in Brienne’s eyes before they closed as her knight in shining armour bowed her head.

“If my leaving your service displeases you, my lady, you must tell me now.”

Sansa knew what Brienne was saying - her vow to Lady Catelyn was still precious to her, and she would spend the rest of her life protecting Sansa if she was asked to. Sansa almost wanted to tell her that she needed her to stay, knowing that Brienne would.

But she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t do that to Brienne, who had found real love with someone who would care for her and understand her and not belittle her for her talents with a sword rather than a sewing needle. Brienne deserved happiness, and Sansa could not refuse it to her now.

She and Arya had already given their blessings for Brienne to leave their service with honour, and no matter how much she would miss her friend, Sansa was not about to take it back now.

“No, you have to go. Casterly Rock could find no finer lady to rule in the west.”

Brienne blushed a little and looked down. “Thank you, Lady Sansa. Though I doubt I’ll be any good as the lady of a castle.”

Sansa took Brienne’s hand. “You might not be what they’re expecting. But you’ll be better.”

“Any words of advice on how to manage a castle?” Brienne asked, smiling to lighten the atmosphere in the room. “I’d greatly appreciate it.”

“Just do what feels right to you for the castle you’re in” Sansa smiled, squeezing her companion’s hand. “What works for Winterfell may not work for the Rock, so do what you think is best. And Brienne?”

“Yes, my lady?”

“Let the staff do the household tasks. You’re much more than just the lady of a castle. You shouldn’t let your talents go to waste for the sake of a few feasts.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that, my lady” Brienne chuckled, her smile genuine. “If I can I’ll have all the girls in the west training with sword and bow, the same as the boys.”

Sansa laughed; she expected no less from Brienne of Tarth.

“You’ll do well in the south. _Someone_ has to keep Jaime Lannister in line.”

“Now that I know I’m capable of.”

The two women laughed together, knowing it was true. Jaime would do anything for Brienne. Despite their rocky start, they were closer than most couples could ever hope to be. Although Sansa didn’t understand his lure, she nonetheless held up Jaime and Brienne as an aspiration for the sort of love she hoped she and Jon could build over the years.

After all, Jaime and Brienne had hated each other once, and now they were marrying. It was their own choice completely, and they truly loved each other. They gave Sansa hope that, over time, her relationship with Jon would change and transform into something real.

Once their laughter had passed, Sansa hesitated only a second before stepping forward to hug Brienne properly. Brienne froze for a moment before cautiously allowing her arms to wrap around Sansa, no doubt confused by the embrace.

“I really will miss you, Brienne.”

“And I you, Lady Sansa.”

“Thank you for everything” Sansa whispered, and this time Brienne didn’t need to reply. She simply hugged Sansa tighter, and that said more than words ever could.

 

/

 

After breakfast, Sansa stood in the courtyard with her husband and Jaime Lannister. Not too far away, she could see Arya and Brienne saying their own farewells, and it gave her a smug feeling to know that their goodbye was simple enough that it could be witnessed by all. Her own farewell had been private.

Jaime finished checking some things in his personal bag, which was tied to the back of his horse, and then gave a respectful bow to the King and Queen of the North.

“I look forward to seeing you both at my wedding” he said, and it was a question as much as a statement - would they drag themselves all the way to the Rock for the event?

“We’ll be there” Jon said, and his smile was genuine.

Jaime, he had found, was one of the least judgemental people around once you got to know him. Jaime liked to act superior sometimes, and the gods knew he could irritate the life out of you, but he was also very open-minded. Some southern lords had scorned at Jon’s marriage to the woman he’d once believed to be his half-sister, but Jaime hadn’t taunted him once.

He’d even had the good grace not to make any jokes about Jon understanding what it was like to take your sister to bed, and Jon appreciated that. If any such jokes had been made, he’d likely have knocked out the knight’s teeth.

He felt quite sorry for him, though.

While the thought of taking your trueborn sister to bed still repulsed him - even with Sansa there were times when he was disgusted by himself; the thought of it being him and _Arya_ made him feel physically sick - he sympathised with Jaime. No matter what had happened, he had loved Cersei, and he had been forced to kill her.

Jon still didn’t know all the details about that day, and he suspected he never would. Nobody seemed to know the full truth, except Jaime. He wondered if the man had confided in Brienne, but it wasn’t his place to ask.

He held out his hand now, making sure that he offered his left hand. “Safe journey south, Lannister.”

Jaime nodded, his grip firm. “Thank you. I mean that.”

Jon nodded back, understanding what the other meant. Jon had been the first one to truly welcome Jaime to Winterfell - besides Brienne and Tyrion - and didn’t ask him prying questions about him and Cersei. Over the war with the Night King, the two had formed an odd kind of friendship, and neither wished to lose it now.

It was time that the Wardens of the West and North were proper friends.

When they released their hands, Jaime turned to Sansa and bowed. “I hope you will both be happy, now that the wars are over.”

Sansa nodded primly - while she had warmed to Jaime Lannister, she didn’t yet consider him a friend the way her husband did. Nevertheless, she offered her hand to him, and smiled politely when he kissed it.

“I look forward to your wedding, my lord” she said, and she eyed him without friendliness. “I trust that you will treat her well.”

Jaime smiled, but it was a sober smile. “You have my word on that, my queen.”

Sansa smiled a little at that. While she didn’t really _like_ Jaime, she did trust him with Brienne. Any blind fool could see that he cared deeply for her, and Sansa approved of anyone who truly accepted and loved Brienne for who she was.

“I hope your travels south will be enjoyable from now on” Jaime remarked, not unkindly. “It’s good to know the north are our friends at last.”

Both Jon and Sansa nodded - neither of them had forgotten the tenseness between the north and south, and both prayed that their odd, newfound friendship with House Lannister would erode it over time.

Under Jaime instead of Tywin or Cersei, and with Tyrion as the Hand of the Queen in the south, the Lannisters were going to be different. Jon was certain of it, and Sansa knew that Brienne would make sure of it.

Sansa would have said something else - she was nothing if not an accomplished diplomat - but they were interrupted by the arrival of Brienne and Arya, whose goodbyes had apparently been exchanged already.

The two looked like natural companions, and it almost surprised Sansa that Arya had been so willing to let Brienne leave. But then again, Arya didn’t really need a protector, Sansa knew, and their time together had been short. Arya let these things go far more easily than she did.

Jon said a polite farewell to Brienne and shook her hand - Sansa smiled over Jon’s understanding that Brienne much preferred a firm handshake to her large hand being kissed - and then wished the future Lord and Lady of Casterly Rock good fortune, and headed back into Winterfell.

Sansa was touched at his thoughtfulness in giving she and Arya a moment to say goodbye to Brienne without him.

Arya and Brienne promised to fight again when they next met, grinning broadly at one another as friendly rivals do. Sansa envied them their mutual interest, but she didn’t begrudge them it.

She said a final, more formal farewell to both Brienne and Jaime, and then the two were riding out of Winterfell. Sansa could only hope that they’d be back one day.

Standing beside her sister, Sansa was truly sorry to see them go, especially when they joined the Lannister men outside the main gate and began properly riding, heading south and far away from her. It was odd to see Brienne riding off without the company of her faithful squire, Podrick Payne, no matter how at ease she looked with Jaime.

 

/

 

Only when all the Lannister forces were gone did Sansa call for the gate to be closed, and she felt glad to be saying it. Jaime and Brienne had been the very last guests to depart, and now Winterfell was finally free of southern visitors. At last the castle could return to normality, or at least attempt to build up a new sort of it.

As Sansa turned to go inside, Arya fell into step next to her.

“What will you do now?” her sister asked.

“What do you mean?”

“She was the one our mother chose to protect us” Arya explained. “I no longer need protection. But you still do.”

Sansa tried not to be insulted. Arya didn't mean it unkindly, and she was correct.

“I have guards to protect me now” Sansa said, bristling inwardly at the knowledge that her younger sister considered her fragile and in need of protection. “I have loyal lords who are sworn to me, and a husband.” She glanced down. “And you, of course.”

“You’re right” Arya said, and she stopped walking. “You do have me.”

Sansa stopped as well, looking at her sister in confusion. “I know.”

“That’s not what I meant” Arya laughed, and she folded her arms. “You’re Queen now, and a queen will always have enemies. Some enemies are the type to send great armies to fight you, and for that you have your lords.” She took a step towards Sansa. “But there are other enemies, ones that can get in close to you, without you ever realising it. Your lords can’t protect you from them.”

“What do you mean by that?” Sansa frowned.

“You’ll need someone to protect you, personally” Arya said simply. “I can be that.”

“What?” Sansa was shocked by the offer. “You’re my sister, not my bodyguard!”

“I am, and I won’t be like Brienne was. I don’t take orders and I won’t do your bidding, or run your little errands” Arya said firmly. “But I can protect you.”

“I don’t need you to protect me, Arya.”

“Yes, you do.”

Arya stalked past her sister, pausing only to look Sansa in the eye as she passed her.

“You’re going to need somebody to protect you, Sansa. Someone that isn’t your husband. Someone who actually gives a damn whether you live or die. Your lords won’t.” Arya walked on, speaking clearly enough that Sansa could still hear her. “Come find me when you’ve given it some thought.”

Sansa glared at her sister as Arya walked away.

On one hand, Sansa was furious that Arya would imply she needed to be protected. She was far stronger than she had once been, and she had Jon to look out for her. She had the northern lords as well, no matter what Arya said - her father had always said that northern men were more loyal, and she knew they’d come to her aid if she called.

And yet, she understood what Arya meant. The preparation for the Battle of the Bastards had taught Sansa that even northmen were not always loyal to their vows, and it was true enough that they weren’t usually at Winterfell itself. Usually the northerners kept to their own lands and holdfasts, and if an enemy should ever get inside her castle, they wouldn’t be there to help her.

Jon would protect her no matter what, of course. She knew that he meant it when he vowed to take care of her.

But even Jon wouldn’t always be around. The King in the North would be called away to various corners of the north, and sometimes even further away from Winterfell, and she wouldn’t always be with him. He would honour his vow to protect her, but it may not be enough.

Arya was right. She really did need somebody to protect her personally, somebody she could truly trust. She hated to admit it, but she could do no better than her sister.

It was incredibly strange to think of her younger sister as her protector, but she knew that Arya was capable of it. Arya had become one of the most devious killers Sansa had ever heard of, trained by the Faceless Men of Braavos, Syrio Forel, Brienne, and the gods only knew who else. And although they didn’t always get along, she knew that Arya was one of the few people in the world that she could honestly trust.

It wouldn’t be the same as having Brienne by her side. Arya could be a close confidant, but she would never be a friend the way Brienne was. Arya was her sister, not her friend.

But she was trustworthy, and strong and capable. Arya was the best choice, and she knew it.

Sansa heaved a sigh and swallowed her pride before she followed her sister.

At least she didn’t have to worry about finding a new bodyguard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the lack of Jonsa in this one - will make up for it in the next chapter!


	5. Chapter 5

In the time that immediately followed Jaime and Brienne’s departure, Jon and Sansa began to settle slowly into a routine.

Every day they went about their duties as the rulers of the north, sometimes as one and sometimes separately, depending on what needed doing. Now that the castle was free of its many visitors, life began to settle down for everybody within its walls.

Even without the threat of white walkers, the threat of winter remained. It was bitterly cold at night, and Sansa found herself very glad of the nights when she and Jon retired to the same bedchamber. Nights were always warmer when he lay next to her, their body heat warming the bed.

She and Jon had no strict pattern for beddings, but over the past two weeks she had found that they occurred three or four times in a week, and that was enough for her. Even though it was colder without Jon, she did still enjoy having occasional nights to herself, nights when she did not have to calm herself before Jon slipped inside her.

As the two became more familiar with one another, the beddings became more enjoyable for both. Jon was still in two minds about the entire situation, she knew, but he was relaxing more quickly every night they were together, and he no longer hesitated to undress in front of her.

She was much calmer now, too. Although the beddings were not yet easy for Sansa, she was growing more and more familiar with the feel of a man’s body over hers. She was still wary whenever Jon first pushed inside her, but it was taking a little less time now for her to anchor herself in the moment and remember that it was Jon she was with, and that he’d never hurt her.

The beddings weren’t perfect, but they’d stopped hurting entirely now, and Sansa was pleased that whatever hesitation she still felt was not affecting her physically. Emotionally, she was still plagued by the memories of the past, but she had hope that time would lessen the power they had over her. Already she had stopped feeling her heart pound at her chest at the mere thought of holding Jon in her hand.

It was a good start. It time it may even become enjoyable.

A routine of regular beddings, daily duties and socialising was slowly being constructed around them, and both were content to settle into it.

Sansa would have said that she was even beginning to remember what it was like to be happy, when her mood was soured one morning by the arrival of an unwelcomed visitor. A visitor wearing red.

It was a feeling Sansa had not had since the very first time, back in King’s Landing when she’d feared that she was now fit for Joffrey to use. With Ramsay, it had never been unwelcomed; she had always been deeply relieved to see the redness, knowing that that monster had not left a piece of himself inside her.

Now, though, when she awoke to the feeling of blood-slick thighs, Sansa closed her eyes in disappointment.

Her moon blood had come. She was not with child.

Jon would be so disappointed.

Sansa allowed herself to lie in bed for a few moments, hands pressed to her face, steeling herself for the discussion to come. She’d have to tell Jon that their efforts this month were unsuccessful. First, though, she’d need to clean herself up.

It was a small mercy that Jon was not in her bed this morning.

Sansa called for a maid to prepare a bath, and when it was ready she ordered the maid to leave. Once she would have scorned at the thought of washing her own hair like a peasant, but now she found that anyone’s hands in her wet hair reminded her of Myranda and her threats.

Sansa slid into the warm water, letting her eyes close as the water eased the dull, achy feeling in her abdomen. It had never been more unwelcome than it was now.

For all that the beddings were far more tolerable now than they had been initially, both she and Jon had been praying that she would fall pregnant. They needed heirs, and a goodly supply of them; the sooner they started the better.

It was very disheartening to know that she would bleed for the next few days, having prayed so hard that her blood would not come.

Sansa, though, had become adept at getting on with her life when things did not go as planned, and so she quickly began to scrub her skin. The water between her legs became tinged with red, and the sight of it made her feel vaguely queasy. She stepped out of the water and into her robes as soon as she was clean.

She slowed down after that, though, making sure she dressed slowly and taking her time before calling for a handmaiden to braid her hair.

She wanted to delay the inevitable for just a little longer, dreading the conversation she and Jon were about to have. It would do her no good, however, and she knew it. Whether she remained in her room for an hour or the full day, eventually Jon would look for her.

Sansa sent her maids away once she was ready, taking a moment to collect herself in solitude. Although she took a deep breath to calm herself before leaving her chambers, she refused to hide herself away all day. This was not something to be ashamed of, she reminded herself. Many ladies had to wait several moons for the first signs of a babe; it wasn’t unusual no matter how disappointing it may be.

And so Sansa Stark cloaked herself in pride and dignity, and walked to the great hall to break her fast with her head held high.

 

/

 

Seated between her husband and her sister, it was almost easy to let her mind drift away from her empty womb. Their animated talk reminded her of the way they had been as children, and she smiled as they politely attempted to include her in the conversation, although she had very little input to offer them.

She ate little, her appetite dampened by the mild ache in her belly.

“Are you alright, Sansa?” Jon asked quietly, when Arya halted the conversation to refill her plate. “You’re not eating much.”

She was touched that he even noticed. “I’m just not all that hungry.”

Jon frowned a little - he looked good with a frown, she’d recently come to realise - but let it go without argument. Evidently he didn’t want to push her. Sansa was grateful for that, knowing that he cared enough to ask and respected her enough to accept her halfhearted answer.

They didn’t speak much for the rest of the meal, although it ran a little late, and Jon rushed off afterwards to speak with the masons who had come to the castle last night to fix some structural problems that were beyond Sansa’s understanding.

Sansa left the hall at a more sedate pace, Arya trailing silently behind her.

It was something she was still getting used to, have her sister as her bodyguard. Arya was so completely different to Brienne in her approach to the position that Sansa found she scarcely reminded her of the future lady of the Rock at all.

Where Brienne was big and imposing, Arya was small and tended to blend into the shadows. Occasionally Sansa would turn around to speak to her and find that Arya had already disappeared - that was always a little unsettling.

Where Brienne had listened with quiet respect and offered polite counsel, Arya interrupted her and challenged her, and outright disagreed with her on several matters. Where Brienne had been insecure, Arya was confident.

She was entirely different, but Sansa felt no less safe. Her sister had been the perfect choice for Brienne’s replacement, even if it was a change the Queen in the North was still adjusting to.

Now, Arya waited only until she was sure they were in an empty corridor en route to the kitchens - there were rumours about a shortage of grain and Sansa wanted to know if there was any truth to them - before she started speaking.

“There’s something wrong.”

Sansa froze, glancing around for danger. “What is it?”

“I don’t know.” Arya stared hard at her. “You tell me.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about” Sansa lied smoothly, oddly pleased that her sister had noticed her discomfort. “Is this because I said I wasn’t hungry?”

“You’re old enough to decide when you want to eat” Arya shrugged, and her expression grew slightly more concerned. “That’s not what I meant. You seem down this morning.”

“I’m fine.”

Sansa walked quickly towards the kitchens, knowing that Arya was following even if she couldn’t hear her sister’s quiet footsteps, but she stopped abruptly. She sighed.

There was no point in pretending - she might be able to fool Jon, but she’d never fool Arya.

“My moon blood came this morning” Sansa said quietly, wary of any eavesdropping servants.

Arya’s expression didn’t change. “And?”

Sansa scoffed. “And that means I’m not pregnant.”

“Did you want to be?”

“Of course I did.” Sansa leant against the wall behind her, feeling she could let her guard down a little now she was alone with her sister. “I’m the queen. Jon and I need an heir.”

“You do,” Arya agreed “but why do you need one right now?”

The question took her aback. “The sooner we have one the better, Arya.” Her sister just stared at her, and it annoyed her into elaborating. “We promised an heir to Daenerys Targaryen, and she’ll come to collect soon enough. If Jon and I don’t give both her _and_ the north an heir, the wars may start all over again. The stakes are too high to put it off.”

Arya’s expression was calculating for a moment, and then she stepped forward, almost close enough to touch. Sansa was still not entirely certain whether or not Arya made her uncomfortable when she got this close, even though she knew it was an irrational concern. Not only was Arya her sister and bodyguard, but it made no difference how close she was - Arya had proved during the war that she was just as deadly from a distance.

“I understand that. But you’re young enough to leave it a while and still have lots of babies” her sister said, her tone gentle. “The dragon queen will wait; she has no other choice. The north will, too. Shouldn’t you get a chance to enjoy your blissful new married life before the babies come and complicate it all?”

Sansa frowned - she appreciated the sentiment from her sister, but she had also caught the challenge in her words. Arya’s concern for her happiness was genuine, she knew, but her sister had also brought up her marriage, which was going well but couldn’t exactly be described as blissful.

Still, she wasn’t going to rise to the challenge. She was better at rising above Arya’s taunts now than she’d ever been as a child.

“My marriage will be stronger when we have a child” she said confidently, knowing that Arya would be able to tell that she honestly believed what she was saying. “Jon and I have already agreed. I don’t want to wait around.”

Arya didn’t reply, so Sansa took her silence as agreement, or at least acceptance, and continued her walk to the kitchens. This time, Arya let her go alone.

 

/

 

Sansa’s duties were thankfully simple that day - the rumour about grain shortages was exactly that. Jon, however, had a very complicated day.

His appointment with the stone masons had gone poorly. Winterfell badly needed multiple repairs, but so did many northern holdfasts. The masons were overworked and stressed, and all of them held the King in the North responsible. Jon had spent well over an hour listening to their complaints and trying to organise a solution.

It had only got worse from there. Already he was receiving letters from northern lords asking for him to visit their castles and see the damage, and many of them were far from patient. The war had left little of the north untouched, and now that the walkers were gone, everybody was eager to remove all signs that they’d ever sullied the land with their presence.

After spending three hours reading the letters and signing responses, Jon had a building headache that made him irritable. He dictated further responses to his maester and then finally dragged himself out of the solar, heading for the courtyard.

Outside it was bitterly cold but relatively peaceful; most people stayed indoors where it was warmer. Still, there were a few people going about their duties, and each of them inclined their heads respectfully to him when he passed.

Even after more than a year of ruling, it still made him vaguely uncomfortable. He might be a King now, and a trueborn Targaryen prince, but deep inside he didn’t feel like anything more than the bastard of Winterfell.

Ruling in the north was easier now that the walkers were gone, of course. His duties had changed from warfare and strange alliances to games of politics and managing his lands, and it was definitely a change for the better. He far preferred this to killing - he was skilled at that, but he’d never acquired a taste for it.

Now that the wars were over, all he wanted was to be a good king. He wanted the north to be safe. He wanted them to all be able to get along with the south, to have a relationship as strong as it had been when Robert Baratheon had sat the throne with Eddard Stark as the Lord of Winterfell. In fact, he wanted the relationship to be _better_ now. Stronger, and not based on lies.

He was never going to truly get over the fact that his father - his uncle, by blood, but always his father in name - had lived a lie since the day that Jon was born. Every time he thought about it, it angered him. He wished that Ned Stark had lived.

_The next time we see each other, we’ll talk about your mother. I promise._

Those had been Ned’s last words to him, and they haunted him. They hadn’t initially, but ever since Jon had found out the truth about his mother and his real father, about Ned and Robert and his birthright, they’d haunted him in his dreams.

Would Ned have told him the truth?

Jon shut his eyes and shook his head, wishing that he could shake those thoughts away for good. It would do no good to dwell on them, anyway. Ned was long dead, and so was his mother. Gods, but he wished he could have met her.

He would never accept the name she gave him though. Aegon Targaryen wasn’t him.

He had accepted the Targaryen name, albeit reluctantly. He’d always wanted to be a Stark, and it burned a little to know that even when he finally lost the title of ‘bastard’, the name he could claim was not Stark. Still, he couldn’t change it. He was a Targaryen, whether he liked it or not.

It had saved him, in a way. He knew all too well that it was his Targaryen blood that kept him on the good side of his aunt, Queen Daenerys Targaryen. She was a dangerous woman, even without her dragons, and if the price for her cooperation was his acceptance of the name, then it was a price worth paying.

He refused to accept Aegon, though. Nobody but Bran and Daenerys had attempted to call him that, but he’d argued against it firmly right away. He would never answer to it.

With some reluctance, he had accepted the name Jon Targaryen, and it was with that name that he had wed his half-sister.

His _cousin_. She was his cousin, not his half-sister. He _knew_ that.

He just wished that he could stop thinking of her as his half-sister. He still did sometimes.

It was getting easier. At first he’d been against the whole idea of a marriage between himself and Sansa, but he’d come around on the idea. Sansa had been all for it, and he hadn’t been able to refuse her. After all, her arguments made complete sense.

Their marriage would secure stability and heirs, for both the north and the south. It would keep Daenerys on their side. It would mean he could remain in Winterfell and continue to rule as king, and Sansa would still be able to claim her birthright as the Queen in the North.

It would also mean - and this argument had been the most powerful, the one that had truly persuaded him - that he could protect Sansa. She would never be given over to some southern lord to marry, someone who may hurt her or force himself on her, uncaring of the scars Ramsay had left on her body and soul.

Jon was one of the few people she'd opened up to about her history with Ramsay, and every word of it sickened him. He almost wished the son of a bitch was still alive, so he could kill him again.

But at least with Sansa as his wife, he was the only man who would be able to touch her. It may be incredibly strange to him, but at least he knew that he would not hurt her. He’d _never_ hurt her.

And in truth, the more he lay with her at night and felt her sweet body in his arms, the more he was coming to forget that she’d ever been a sister to him.

He still remembered their old relationship. It still disturbed him, and sometimes he was so disgusted at himself for _wanting_ her that he could not eat for fear of vomiting.

Such incidents, though, were getting less and less frequent.

Now, Jon stood in the courtyard and was surprised to see Sansa already there. He hadn’t noticed her at first, but there she was, observing the new master of arms working the steel. Jon wandered over to her.

“Jon” she greeted him.

He nodded in return. “How’s the steel look?”

“Sharp” Sansa said, and she departed with no more words and a smile that seemed sad.

Jon frowned as he watched her walk away. He wanted to go after her, but he actually had some questions for the master of arms now that he was here. He made a mental note to speak to her later, before he forced himself to focus on important matters like defending Winterfell with good steel.

 

/

 

Thanks to his busy schedule, it was after the evening meal before Jon got the chance to speak to Sansa.

The two were seated in what had become the queen’s solar, Jon reading over a letter he’d received from Riverrun and Sansa sewing a new dress for herself. After her relatively easy day, Sansa wanted to relax in the evening, and she still enjoyed her sewing. Queen or not, she refused to give up on the things she enjoyed, and with sewing she had genuine talent.

Jon, though, knew her well enough to notice that she was quiet. Sansa had never been loud, but she usually attempted polite conversation when they had quiet evenings together like this.

“Are you alright, Sansa?”

“Hmm?” She looked up at him, and suddenly she looked anxious. “I’m well, Jon.”

“Are you?” Jon put down his letter. “You haven’t been yourself all day.”

Sansa was quiet for a moment, and then she sighed heavily and set her sewing down. She glanced over at Jon but then looked away, unable to look him in the eye as she confessed her secret to him.

“My moon blood came today.”

A silence fell over the room. Sansa stared resolutely at her lap, refusing to look up at her husband. She didn’t want to see the disappointment in his eyes.

Less than a minute passed before Jon spoke, but to Sansa it seemed like an eternity.

“It’s okay, Sansa. We knew it probably wouldn’t happen the first time.”

“We’ve done it _lots_ of times” Sansa snapped, looking into sympathetic eyes. “I thought _one_ of them would have...”

“Sansa...”

“I know. I’m sorry, Jon. I know you … _we_ wanted there to be a babe as soon as possible.”

“What are you apologising for?” Jon frowned, standing and walking over so he could kneel in front of his wife. “This isn’t your fault, Sansa. It’ll happen. I know it will. We just need to keep trying.” He paused and looked down. “I know that’s not what you want to hear.”

“It’s not about the beddings, Jon” Sansa said gently, her frustration ebbing away a little at the discomfort in Jon’s eyes. He clearly believed that she just wanted the beddings to stop. “I just want us to get started. We’ll be better together once there’s a babe here. Once we start our own family.”

“I know” Jon agreed, and he smiled at her. “And it’ll happen soon enough. Maybe we should just enjoy the quiet for now. We won’t have much of it when the babes start arriving.”

Sansa smiled with him, both chuckling at the idea of Winterfell being fills with the cries and laughter of their children. Their hands joined together on Sansa’s lap, comforting and warm.

The time was not now, and that was disappointing. But it was coming, they both knew it.

And for now, at least they had each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all enjoyed the first little look into Jon's POV - more to follow!


	6. Chapter 6

That night, Jon insisted on staying with Sansa. She had been wary at first, thinking he’d intended to bed her, but her fears were unwarranted. Jon merely undressed and lay down in her bed, warming the blankets and providing a constant, comforting presence.

She wondered how long he had warred with himself in his head before he’d decided to stay with her.

The two lay next to one another but did not touch for some time. Eventually, though, Sansa turned over to face her husband.

“Jon?” she whispered.

“Hmm?”

She moved over in response, curling against his side. Jon lay still for a moment, surprised by the action, but he recovered quickly enough. It was no longer so strange to lie in bed with Sansa as it had been the first few times, and he found that it was much less daunting when he wasn’t expecting to do anything more than hold her. He knew that she didn’t want anything more right now.

Jon wound his arm around her body, holding her against him. Her head rested against his chest, a warm and solid weight, and her arm curled around his waist. Jon’s hand rested on her waist, and he found that without even meaning to his free hand was joined with hers.

It was comfortable. Their joined hands rested over his heart and her body was a welcome presence beside his.

Sansa’s eyes had closed contently, but Jon simply lay there in the darkness, enjoying the feel of his wife at his side. Having her here, like this, was somehow the most intimate thing he had ever done in his life.

He had been intimate in physical ways with Ygritte, his first love, and his feelings for her had been true, but there had been little emotional intimacy there. He had loved her, but it was all based on a lie and he knew it. With Sansa, he had been physically intimate multiple times now, but somehow he felt even closer to her right now.

The way she moved to his side in bed, the way he’d insisted on staying with her all night, the way neither of them expected or desired anything more than closeness … it was intimate in a whole new way. He was closer to her now than he ever had been, and it terrified him. He didn’t want to move away, though. He didn’t want to sleep. He wanted to lie awake all night, scared that in sleep he would let her go.

Eventually, of course, the stress of the day made his eyelids feel unbearably heavy, and he was forced to close his eyes. He tightened his arms around his wife, hoping that she’d remain there all night.

His last thought before he drifted off to sleep was that, from the moment they’d lain down in her bed that night, he had thought of Sansa Stark as his wife, and only his wife, for the first time.

 

/

 

When dawn broke, both Jon and Sansa rose with the winter sun. It was a bitterly cold morning, but their combined body heat kept them warm as they stretched their arms and shyly smiled at one another. It was very strange to wake up together, both still clothed, with the knowledge that they had shared the bed only because they’d _wanted_ to.

Leaving the warm bed was difficult, but duty pulled them from the blankets. Sansa’s heart pounded in her chest when she realised that there were a couple of small, bloody spots on the bed and that the back of her nightgown was stained with it, but Jon barely reacted. He noticed - she’d seen the look of surprise in his eyes and wondered if he’d ever woken to a woman’s blood before - but he had the grace not to comment.

Sansa blushed as she changed into a suitable dress for the day. Did ladies sleep in a bed with their husbands when they bled? She couldn’t remember what, if anything, her mother had said about such things. Strangely enough, she knew what Cersei Lannister would have thought of it better than what her own mother would have.

It reassured her, in a way. It was just one more way in which she and that vicious lioness were different. After noticing some startling similarities between the two of them, Sansa Stark had learned to cling to all the things that set them apart.

Even if it was just something as simple as the fact that she was still alive, and Cersei Lannister was not. With so much injustice thriving in the world, _that_ was something that seemed fair.

Sansa called her maids to help her dress for the day, and Jon departed to his own bedchamber. Before he left, though, Jon took one hand in his and raised it to his lips. They were dry and a little chapped against her skin, but warm. Her fingers curled around his as he lingered there.

She was aware of her handmaids arriving, felt their curious eyes on her, but she ignored them. She favoured her husband with a kind smile before he took his leave, and then allowed her maids to help her ready herself for the morning.

 

/

 

Later in the day, Jon collapsed into the comfortable chair in the solar that had once belonged to his father. Eddard Stark had done so much good for the people of the north from this room, but he’d never taught Jon how he’d done it all. Jon had grown as a bastard, heir to nothing, and now he was expected to rule the entire north.

In a strange way, he was oddly glad of the white walkers - having overcome them, it seemed silly to think that he couldn’t handle this.

It didn’t help with the letter he held in his hands right now, though.

The letter was from his aunt, the dragon queen, and requested an update on the progress being made in the north. It was written formally and the language was polite, but Jon could sense the underlying threat in her words.

He scanned the words again. ‘ _I trust that you and your wife are well, nephew. I hope that it will not be long until I see you again in the south_.’

She was expecting him to come to the south in the near future, then. She hadn’t sent him an official invitation, but he was sure that that would follow soon enough. Her words were kind, but Jon knew what they meant - Daenerys wanted regular updates and visits from the north.

He frowned at the letter in his hands. It irked him that his aunt clearly did not trust him as deeply as she professed to.

Jon had no intention of running down to King’s Landing every time Daenerys called; he’d have been entirely content to never set foot in the capital again. Regardless of his blood, he was a northman, and he belonged in the north. The south held little appeal, especially when he knew any visit would result in him answering face-to-face to the dragon queen.

 _I wonder if Tyrion even knows she sent this_ , Jon contemplated.

He had hoped that the cunning Lannister would be able to control the queen. Tyrion had a level head and understood people in a way Daenerys simply didn’t. Still, Jon probably should have expected this. He knew already that his aunt didn’t run every decision past her hand - she no doubt considered this a family matter.

His hand clenched and crumpled the letter without him telling it to. Despite having made peace with his Targaryen name and blood, it still bothered him that his closest blood relation was the fiery dragon queen in the south. Daenerys had embraced her long lost nephew, but Jon was still unsettled by the way she was so keen to remind him of their kinship.

There were several subtle reminders of it in her letter, and Jon could read the threat in them. It meant that Daenerys hadn’t forgotten that her only chance of a Targaryen heir was for Jon to provide her with one. She wanted her heir sooner rather than later, and he suspected that he’d get less and less subtle hints about it until he informed her that Sansa was with child.

He’d have liked to be able to tell Daenerys that she was already, but there was no point in lying about it. He’d just have to update the dragon queen on the north’s progress - it was slow, but steady - and tell her that he would enjoy a visit south in the future, when he could afford to leave the north without its king. And queen - Daenerys had made it fairly clear that she expected both the King and Queen in the North to journey south for a visit.

Jon pinched the bridge of his nose. He was getting a headache. He’d just been about to go and ask the maester for something to help with it when there was a quiet knock at the door.

“Come in” he called.

His wife walked into the room, shutting the door behind her.

“Sansa” he greeted.

“Jon.” She was smiling, but it fell from her face when she took in his tension. “Is everything alright?”

“Aye” he shrugged, offering a smile. “A letter from the south.”

Sansa moved forward and reached out to take it from him, recognising unfamiliar handwriting. It was addressed to the writer’s ‘nephew’ though, and it bore the Targaryen seal - a letter from the dragon queen.

Sansa scanned it quickly. “She wastes little time.”

Jon nodded in agreement. “I’m going to tell her we need more time here. We can’t leave the north yet.”

“No” Sansa agreed, setting down the letter. “Take care how you reply to her, though, Jon.”

“I will.” Jon reached out to touch the letter but then drew his hand back. “I’ll write her later. Did you need something, Sansa?”

“I just came to tell you that it’s supper time” his wife said, frowning a little at him. “You missed lunch earlier, you need to eat something.”

Jon was surprised to hear it was time for supper already - a glance out the window told him that darkness had already fallen, and he wasn’t sure that he remembered seeing much daylight at all today. Time had gotten away from him. His stomach was rumbling uncomfortably, too, and he wondered how he hadn’t noticed it before.

“I got busy” he said apologetically, realising he’d been locked in his solar all day. “I’ll be right there.”

“I’ll wait for you” Sansa said.

Jon nodded and asked about her day while he quickly tidied away anything important, out of the sight of curious servants. He made a mental note to write his aunt a response first thing in the morning, knowing she’d expect a quick reply.

Sansa had had an easy enough day, so she didn’t have much to tell him.

“I’m getting used to Arya, though” Sansa said, smiling a little. “It makes it easier … not having Brienne here.”

Jon nodded in understanding - he hadn’t realised how close Sansa was to her protector until Brienne had gone south with Jaime Lannister. She had accepted Arya as her new bodyguard to Jon’s amazement and amusement, but Jon knew that she was still a little uncomfortable having her little sister as her new protector.

It was good to know that she was already adjusting to it.

“It’s good that you have her” Jon said, smiling a little as he surveyed the solar and realised he could leave everything else here for the morning and go to supper now. “Is she meeting us at dinner?”

“She’s outside.”

Jon might well have imagined it, but he thought he heard a faint chuckle from outside the door.

“Best not keep her waiting then” he grinned, and with a sudden brave feeling, he offered Sansa his arm.

Sansa glanced at his arm for a second before smiling back and taking it, allowing him to lead her out the door and towards supper.

Arya fell in behind them easily, a silent presence that offered support to both of them without needing to do anything at all. Just knowing she was there was enough - Arya was more than just a bodyguard. She was a true warrior, and although it unsettled him a little, Jon knew that she was a finer killer than he’d ever be.

The three of them made their way to the dining hall, a silent family. With Sansa’s hand on his arm and Arya’s quiet presence at his side, Jon felt his headache begin to dissipate.

It didn’t matter what Daenerys said. No matter how many times she called him ‘nephew’, no matter that he had to accept the Targaryen name … it couldn’t change this. _This_ was real, his real family.

As the trio walked into the hall, Jon felt all eyes move towards them, and felt a sudden burst of pride deep within him. He was proud of his little sister, standing tall and imposing despite her small stature at his side. He was immensely proud of his wife, tall and beautiful and so strong, and he drew her a little closer as they made their way to the front table.

He had enjoyed waking to her calm face that morning, waking without the still lingering stab of shame he felt whenever they awoke still wearing nothing. He hadn’t yet been able to bring himself to look at her naked body in daylight. That morning had been almost blissful, and he felt that it had somehow bridged a gap that existed between them, one that he hadn’t even realised was there until it was gone.

They _were_ closer, though, that much was undeniable. As they walked through the evening crowd, they both felt it, even if neither truly understood it.

Neither felt even a little guilty as they sat close together at the dining table, and if their hands met part way through the meal and remained joined until it was over, then that was nobody’s business but their own.


	7. Chapter 7

Over the days and weeks that followed, Jon and Sansa grew ever closer and began to fall into something resembling a comfortable routine.

Both became more settled in their roles as the King and Queen in the North. Jon learned how to assert himself over the stubborn northern lords, all the while striving to live up to the memory of Eddard Stark. In every decision he made, Jon wondered what Ned would have done, and tried to live up to his expectations.

Sansa ruled as both the Queen in the North and the Lady of Winterfell, taking charge of the castle and taking care of her kingdom. She emulated her mother’s manners and high standards of maintenance, and she took her cues from other great ladies. Her cunning was not inherited from her mother, and Sansa sometimes admitted to herself that she had learned it from Cersei.

Between them both, Jon and Sansa were slowly turning the north from the barren wasteland the walkers had left it as into something more resembling the country they had known when they were children. It was a slow, gruelling process, but it was progress nonetheless.

Jon wrote south every couple of weeks, updating the dragon queen and her hand. He found that it was easier to write to Lord Tyrion, and hoped that his aunt wasn’t offended by it. After all, he assumed that Tyrion would not keep secrets from his queen. He did seem to hold her in very high esteem, despite the queen’s fiery temper and tendency to hold grudges.

Sansa sent her own occasional letters to Tyrion as well, partly to keep in touch and partly because she wanted the south to know that she was every bit the northern ruler that Jon was. She wrote to Casterly Rock more frequently, too, and kept in close contact with Brienne. She was busy planning her wedding, and it sounded like she was already bringing the west into line. Sansa was happy for her.

Sansa’s moon blood had come and gone twice more. She and Jon bedded one another regularly, and it was disheartening whenever they woke to the sight of Sansa’s reddened thighs, but they kept one another strong.

Such events had given them one good thing, they both knew. One major change to their lives was that now they always shared a bed, even on the nights when all they did was sleep. Their first night like that had been the day after Sansa’s first blood had come since their wedding, and they hadn’t spent a night apart since.

Affection was growing steadily between them, too. Kisses outside of the bedchamber were still rare, but they were happening, and Sansa had stopped feeling ashamed by her enjoyment of them. Jon, she knew, was still a little conflicted about their relationship, but his doubts seemed to be fading more every day.

Indeed, by the time the unanticipated letter arrived from Casterly Rock, the two had grown comfortable enough to be cuddled close by the fire in the middle of the day. They were enjoying a few private moments while they had some precious free time; such moments were rare enough for the northern rulers that they cherished them.

A knock on the door interrupted them, and Jon grudgingly called for the visitor to enter. Neither one rose from their seat on the cushioned bench as they saw the maester enter the room.

“A letter from the Rock, your grace” the maester said quietly, holding the letter out to Jon.

“Thank you.” Jon took the letter and held it until the maester departed. He then wordlessly handed it over to Sansa.

With only a very slight frown, Sansa took the letter. She knew why the maester tended to hand all letters to the Jon - as the King in the North, the Targaryen prince, he was looked to as the true leader in the north, despite his continuous attempts to include Sansa in his decisions - but it irked her nonetheless. It irritated her especially with letters from Casterly Rock, which were almost always from Brienne and intended for Sansa.

Jon turned to watch the fire as Sansa opened the letter and silently read it, giving her privacy. Jon was considerate enough to realise that it bothered her when letters which were almost always for her eyes were given to him, and he was keen to show his wife that the contents of the letter didn’t interest him. He trusted her to tell him anything important; whatever Brienne wanted to tell Sansa, as a friend, was none of his business.

It did become his business, however, when he heard the sharp intake of breath from his wife.

“Sansa?”

Sansa shook her head, setting the letter down in front of her. Jon just barely resisted grabbing it and reading it himself, wanting to prove that he trusted her judgement.

“What did it say?” he asked quietly, his voice deliberately calm.

Sansa was quiet for a moment and Jon was stricken to see barely concealed tears in her eyes. His wife turned her face away for a moment, pressing her lips together.

Jon reached out instinctively, resting one hand on her shoulder and waiting for a response. To his surprise, Sansa shrugged it off and rose from her seat.

Sansa took only three steps away from Jon before she stopped, covering her mouth with one hand while she reigned in her emotions.

Jon rose from his seat but stepped no closer. “Sansa?”

“It’s Brienne.” Sansa’s voice was strained and slightly watery. “She’s...”

“Brienne?” Jon frowned, his heart catching in his throat - he may not be close to the female warrior, but he respected her and he knew how much she meant to Sansa. “What happened?”

Sansa turned to face him. “It’s not that, Jon. She’s well.”

“Oh … that’s good. So then, what is it?”

“She’s written with good news, Jon. She and Ser Jaime have moved their wedding forward.”

“What?”

“They’ve moved the wedding up to two moons from now.” Sansa glanced at the letter on the table. “She’s asking if we still plan to attend.”

Jon nodded in understanding - they had not expected this. When they had last spoken with Jaime and Brienne, the two had been intending to settle firmly at Casterly Rock before they wed. Jon’s impression had been that it would be a rather long engagement, a far cry from his own. The last letter he’d had from the Rock had suggested the wedding was about a year off. It had initially been intended to be only a few moons after Jon's own wedding, but Ser Jaime had postponed it due to the lingering damage to the West, which was more substantial than anyone had realised. The Walkers had left their mark even there, and Jaime had wanted to solve the worst of the problems prior to the wedding.

Still, it didn’t explain Sansa’s reaction.

“That’s okay, Sansa. It will take some rearranging, but the northern lords will have to understand. It’s important that we keep ties strong between us and Casterly Rock. We must attend the wedding.” He moved forward to take one deceptively delicate hand in his. “Don’t worry about missing Brienne’s big day.”

Sansa smiled, a little sadly and a little gratefully. “That’s not it, Jon.”

“Then what?”

“They’re moving the wedding forward because Brienne is pregnant.”

Jon’s smile fell. Suddenly he understood his wife’s reaction. Despite trying hard, Sansa still was not with child. To hear that her close friend was had to be difficult to take.

Sansa smiled bravely. “It’s good news.”

And it truly was. Sansa was honestly happy for her friend, who she knew would be a fine mother. Brienne was not maternal as such, but she was kind and caring in her own way, and she knew how to lead. Her moral character was incredibly strong; she would pass along to her children the best possible values they could wish for.

Still, it hurt to realise that while she herself was having trouble conceiving, Brienne seemed to have no such trouble. She had not realised that Brienne and Jaime had been together that way, but then she had not thought on it. She had never had reason to think on that part of her friend’s private life.

Nevertheless, she was positive that Brienne had not deliberately set out to fall pregnant. It was doubtless an accidental conception, although from the tone of the letter, it was a rather welcomed accident. That was difficult for Sansa to take. She herself was actively _trying_ , and appeared to be getting nowhere.

 _It’s not fair_ , Sansa thought, just barely resisting the childish temptation to pout.

“Sansa?”

Sansa looked up at Jon’s concerned tone, realising that she must have been lost in her own thoughts. He had probably been speaking but she hadn’t heard.

“Sorry. What did you say?”

“I said ‘are you okay?’”

“Oh. I’m fine, Jon.” Sansa tried to smile, squeezing her husband’s hand. “I’m happy for her. Really.”

“I know. I am as well. But it’s … sudden news.”

“Yes.”

With a heavy sigh, Sansa stepped into Jon’s embrace, seeking comfort in his strong arms around her. She closed her eyes against his shoulder.

Jon tried to ease the tenseness in his body in order to calm his wife. The knowledge that others were not having the problems they were was undoubtedly going to weigh on them both and it made him feel slightly inferior to realise that Jaime Lannister had no trouble putting a child in his woman.

Still, he knew that however hard this was for him, it had to be worse for his wife. Jon was dismayed that their efforts had not yet resulted in a child, but Sansa took it harder. She had confided in him already that she felt like her body was betraying her when she awoke with blood-slick thighs.

“Will you be alright attending the wedding?” Jon asked quietly.

To his surprise, the northern queen laughed in his embrace.

“Of course. I’m _fine_ , Jon. I’m just...”

“Frustrated” he finished.

“Yes. But it’s no matter. We still need to go to the wedding.” Sansa smiled, genuinely this time. “I don’t think Brienne would ever forgive me if I missed it.”

“Oh, I’m sure she’d blame me” Jon said, grinning at her to show he was kidding.

“There’s a thought” Sansa teased.

The two grinned at one another and without thinking about it leaned forward so their lips could meet in a chaste kiss.

They both knew they should return to enjoying some private time together. After all, with the unexpected news that they would have to make the journey south to Casterly Rock soon, there was suddenly a lot to do in a rather short space of time.


	8. Chapter 8

The next three weeks were what might kindly be described as mayhem. 

Jon put out the word of their urgent trip to Casterly Rock immediately, but few of the northern lords responded. Most understood why the King and Queen of the North were required to attend, but virtually none were willing to do so themselves.

So far only Lady Lyanna Mormont and Lord Ned Umber had responded positively; both were willing to make the journey south. Lady Mormont’s reply came as no surprise. She admired Brienne and had always intended to attend her wedding. Neither Jon nor Sansa were sure why young Lord Umber had decided to attend. Privately Jon was concerned that the boy was afraid of him and was scared to say no to a king’s request.

Three weeks after receiving Brienne’s letter, Sansa had barely slept. The young queen spent every waking moment preparing for the journey and taking every measure to ensure that Winterfell would still be standing upon her return. It would be without its lady for some time.

Meanwhile Jon spent most of his time with various northern lords, either meeting with them in the great hall or writing them lengthy letters. 

The pressing concern for both rulers was that they were leaving the north unattended for over two moons. It would take three weeks to travel to Casterly Rock, they would remain there for at least two weeks, and then it would take a further three weeks to make the journey back to Winterfell. Jon knew that he would be happy to depart from the Rock as soon as the wedding was over, but he was well aware that Sansa may disagree.

Ever since Sansa had learned that Brienne was with child, the young queen had fluctuated between being slightly morose over it and being determined to prove to Brienne that she was happy for her. Sansa had already hinted that she would like to stay at the Rock for at least a few days after the wedding. 

Jon wondered if he would end up having to make the journey back to Winterfell on his own. The thought concerned him, but he wasn’t keen on bringing it up with his wife.

After three weeks of endless planning - virtually all of which the king and queen had done separately - Jon found that he was missing his wife most of the time. He and Sansa no longer had time for regular evenings together, and they took meals together only infrequently. 

Beddings, too, had become infrequent. While the two nearly always spent at least a couple of hours a night in bed together, both were exhausted from their long days and tended to simply fall asleep. Usually one would already by deep in slumber by the time the other joined them, and neither had the heart to wake the other. 

Neither was surprised when they woke one morning after three weeks of this pattern and found that their bedsheets were streaked with blood. 

Sansa knew the second she awoke, her legs moving lazily without instruction; the sticky, sliding sensation roused her from her sleep unpleasantly. She moved one hand between her legs and brought it into her eyeline, sighing heavily at the proof that their efforts had once again come to nothing.

Beside her Jon stirred into wakefulness, sitting up and stretching before he noticed his wife’s plight. Sansa glanced over, her heart missing a beat at Jon’s disappointed glance, but she didn’t try to hide the blood on her fingers. 

No matter how disappointed they both were by her moonblood, she refused to be embarrassed about it any longer. Jon was accepting of their reality, and she would not be ashamed of her body’s failure to conceive. 

“Are you okay?” Jon asked quietly.

“Yes” Sansa replied, sitting up and carefully wiping her fingers on the already soiled bedding. “I wish it had happened this time, though.”

“So do I” Jon sighed, reaching across to take Sansa’s clean hand in his his. “It  _ will _ happen, Sansa. We knew it probably wouldn’t be now.”

“I know. We’ve been too busy lately” Sansa said, her tone slightly bitter. 

“Sansa?”

“I just … the Westerlands were not as badly damaged as the North, but the country there was a mess, Jon. Ser Jaime told me about the damage to the land and to the people.” Sansa took a deep breath and smiled sadly at her husband. “He and Brienne must be busy, too, and yet they...”

Jon looked down, squeezing Sansa’s hand in silent support. He understood her frustration. It was difficult for both of them to know that their troubles were not shared by all.

Regardless, they still had multiple duties to their people, and so both king and queen rose from their bed and said farewell for the day. 

 

/

 

Sansa folded her arms as she listened to her sister’s quiet grumbling in the background. Sansa was writing a final letter to Casterly Rock to inform them that they were going to leave the following week, and Arya was busy packing some things for the journey.

Sansa sat quietly at her desk, and if it were not for her sister the only sound in the room would be the gentle scratching of pen against paper. 

Arya, however, was moving quickly from one end of the room to the other, tossing supplies into a bag. Exactly what she was packing, Sansa did not know or care. Whatever it was, she was sure Arya had her reasons. 

What she did not know was why her sister, who moved on silent feet and at times seemed to be more shadow than human, had to make so much unnecessary noise with her loud grumbling.

“Can you be a bit quieter?” Sansa snapped, looking away from her letter. “Whatever you’re doing, I’m sure you’re capable of doing it without making so much noise.”

Arya continued on her path, sparing not even a glance for her sister. 

Sansa set her quill down, slightly irritated by her young bodyguard. Nobody else in the castle had the nerve to ignore her that way, but even her new status as Queen in the North was not enough command respect from her sister.

“What are you doing?” Sansa tried again.

“I don’t think we should go south.”

“What? Sansa frowned. “We don’t have a choice, Arya.”

“Of course you do. You’re the queen.”

“Yes, and  _ as _ the queen, I need to go south to keep ties strong.” Sansa rose from her seat and went to look out the window at the still frozen land surrounding the castle. “Our new alliance with House Lannister is … tenuous, Arya. Our absence at Jaime and Brienne’s wedding would be noticed.”

“You don’t even like Jaime Lannister, and Brienne will understand.”

“It’s not about whether or not I like him. It’s about appearances and preventing future tension between our families. You’re clever, Arya. You always were. But you don’t understand politics.”

Arya glared at her, but there was no real heat in it. Sansa wasn’t wrong, after all.

“How long will we have to stay there for?” 

Sansa shrugged, revelling a little in the fact that she could admit to not having the answer. With her lords and ladies, she was the queen who must have all the answers at all times. With Arya, she could admit that she didn’t know, and there was a certain amount of security in that. 

“I hate the south” Arya grumbled.

Sansa nodded shortly. She did, too. The south had always held a tantalising allure for her in her childhood, but she knew better now. Her years in the south had revealed the corruption and falseness that was inherent in parts of the south; it was most prevalent in King’s Landing, where Sansa had learned the truth and suffered so much humiliation. 

After only a few years in the south, Sansa had learned that she very much belonged in the north. Yet she found that she was oddly keen to return to the south, if only to see how much it had changed.

She suspected not as much as she would like. The south was still far too wrapped up in who sat on the Iron Throne, and the familiar stench of greed and hostility would prosper in the capital regardless of who that was. 

Still, she had hope. She had to hope that the capital was a better place under the new Targaryen queen that it had been under King Robert or King Joffrey or Queen Cersei. After all, one day her own child would sit the Iron Throne, and she had to hold onto the hope that when that day came, Queen Daenerys would have left the capital a better place to inherit than the city she had taken from Cersei.

“The south is a changed place” Sansa said, praying that her confident tone was justified. “Besides, it’s not really the south you hate, it’s King’s Landing. We’re not going to King’s Landing.”

“You think the Lannister Rock is going to be any better?” 

“I don’t know. I’m sure Brienne will have seen to its betterment.”

Arya cast her a strange look that Sansa had no hope of deciphering. She wanted to ask what it meant, but had learned already that when Arya gave such a look in place of words, nothing she could do would force her sister to explain. 

“I’m sure you have a lot of work still to do, my lady. I will leave you alone.”

Arya stepped outside the door, although Sansa knew that her bodyguard would stand just outside until she herself was ready to leave the solar. She wondered if she ought to correct her sister - she corrected anyone else who dared to call her ‘my lady’, reminding them that she was the northern queen and should be addressed as such - but decided not to trouble herself with trying. Arya had probably done it on purpose because she knew it irked her older sister. 

The teasing had not entirely left their relationship, and Sansa was surprised by how much that pleased her. It was nice to know that some things in her life were constant, when virtually nothing seemed to be in this world. 

 

/

 

That night Sansa slumbered alone. Despite his existing exhaustion, Jon stayed up all night in his solar, alternating between tending to his duties as the King in the North and writing two rather more personal letters.

The first was to go to his aunt, the last he would be sending her before he departed for the hastily arranged Lannister wedding. He answered the queries her last letter had contained, he asked how she was, he wrote that he prayed the southern repairs were going well. He carefully did not mention that Sansa had not conceived yet, determined not to mention it unless Daenerys brought it up first. 

Truthfully, Jon had little to say to his aunt that was truly personal. Their letters spoke more of two rulers communicating than of familial connection, and Jon was personally content to keep it that way. He suspected his aunt would have preferred it to be more personal, but both knew that no real warmth existing between them yet. 

It might have been different without the pressing need for an heir, Jon thought. It was difficult to try and be close with the woman who he barely managed to acknowledge as his aunt when there was the constant fear that she would grow impatient with his failure to produce an heir. 

He was all too aware that Daenerys Targaryen was not the most patient woman, and her promise to allow them their own first born son for the future King in the North was partly based on the knowledge that heirs would come without problem. If he and Sansa had trouble creating a second heir, he had no doubt that Daenerys would demand the existing one for herself. 

Jon refused to dwell on it right now, though. Instead he simply wrote that he hoped to see her at the wedding. He was certain that Lord Tyrion would attend his own brother’s wedding ceremony, but he wondered if Queen Daenerys would take the time. 

By the time the letter to his aunt was finished, Jon’s eyes burned with tiredness. He refused to sleep, though, determined to get through the second letter. 

The second letter was distinctly warmer in tone that the first and a great deal more personal. Jon had not seen Samwell Tarly since before he had taken Sansa as his wife, and he missed his old friend dearly. 

Jon would have liked to see Sam at the wedding - he knew Sam would love the feast that Ser Jaime would no doubt have planned - but he doubted he’d see him there. He was sure the new Lord Tarly of Hornhill had been invited, but after all that had happened it was unlikely he’d be leaving the boundaries of the Reach any time soon for anything short of a royal demand.

Jon had no authority to demand his friend to visit the north, otherwise he might well have done so already, if only to make sure Sam was doing alright.

Losing Gilly had been harder on him than he’d let on, Jon was sure. The bastard child that was named for him would surely bring him some comfort, but Jon knew enough about love and loss to know the child would not make up for the loss of the woman Sam had loved.

Jon’s letter was personal and kind and did not mention any of the concerns he had for his friend. He did not ask if Sam was taking care of himself, merely stated that he hoped he was well. He asked after the child, determined not to exclude him on the basis that the child was a wildling girl’s bastard. Sam considered the boy his son, and Jon respected that even if he didn’t understand it.

Jon considered asking if Sam had thought about taking a bride yet, but decided against it. It was too soon after Gilly, he was sure, although he knew that Sam would have to marry again some day, whether he loved his chosen bride or not.

He hoped Sam would be able to build some form of love with a good woman. It had to be possible. After all, Jon had taken an extremely unlikely bride who he’d been sure he would never be able to see as anything but the girl he’d once called sister, and yet he had been wrong.

After only a few moons of marriage, something was building between he and Sansa, who he was coming to see as his wife and only his wife more and more with every passing day. It wasn’t love, not yet, but it was growing into something more than just simple affection. 

If he could find that with Sansa, he was sure that Sam would find something like it, too. 

Jon found that he had so much to tell his old friend that he scribbled down pages and pages, his handwriting worsening with each page as it became increasingly difficult to keep his eyes open. 

Indeed by the time he was printing his signature and sealing the parchment, it was almost beginning to grow light outside. 

Jon heaved a sigh and consigned himself to having to get through the day without any sleep. It would seem that the duties of a king were immense, but the duties of a friend could be just as distracting. He hoped the duties of a queen had allowed Sansa some time to sleep, though, and prayed that she didn’t notice that he hadn’t come to bed at all during the night. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just as a warning, this chapter pushed the rating of this story up to explicit.

Despite all the preparation, the journey south was far from pleasant. Two weeks into the long march, with a week of travelling still ahead of them, both Jon and Sansa were irritable and longing for home.

The weather on their journey south was unkind. Their first few days were slowed by the snowfall which was bordering on being a real blizzard, and even after the days warmed a little they were assaulted by heavy rain.

They largely spent time in tents, preferring not to stay with other lords along the way. It was highly unlikely that any would dare to turn them away - many southern lords begrudged the north its independence but all recognised Jon’s status as the dragon queen’s heir - but Jon feared that they would be encouraged to stay longer than a night. Already the poor weather had delayed their arrival by two days.

By the time the group was about six days from arrival at the Rock, none were in good spirits and most were beginning to wish they had never come.

Out of the entire party only Sansa was genuinely glad they had come. Every day brought her closer to seeing her old friend again and she looked forward to seeing how Brienne was handling life at the Rock. As the future wife of the Warden of the West, she was sure to have had a central voice in the restoration of the West.

Once their tents were erected, Sansa took supper in her regal tent with her husband, her sister and Lady Mormont. She had invited the young Lord Umber and the new Lord Glover - who had unexpectedly decided to join them at the last minute - to join them as well, but both had graciously declined the invitation.

Sansa had been marginally insulted by their rejection, but Jon had calmed her temper before it could really grow into anything.

“They just want to dine with their own men, Sansa” he had reassured her. “Neither of them are happy to be here, and it’s been a long day.”

Sansa had accepted his reasoning - it had been more than just one long day, it had been a long two weeks. She enjoyed the company of Lady Mormont, though, who grumbled and muttered nearly as much as Arya did, if a bit more politely, but nevertheless kept the conversation interesting.

Outside the tent the rain pounded against the ground, quickly turning the grassy field they’d set up camp in into a muddy mess. Lady Mormont’s personal guard offered to pick her up when it was time for her to depart, and Sansa nearly expected the young lady to agree to it. She certainly would have had she not been the queen. Yet the Lady of Bear Island merely snorted and squelched out into the rain, looking for all her worth like a warrior heading into battle.

Arya remained with them for a little longer, and Sansa suspected her sister was waiting out the rain, although it showed no signs of letting up. Then again, perhaps Arya was just spending some time with Jon. Now that her sister served as her bodyguard, Arya did not spent so much quality time with the man who had once been her self-proclaimed favourite brother.

Sansa attempted to read a journal she was working through, trying to provide her family some semblance of privacy. Their conversation, though, was superficial, and she wondered if that would have been the case had she not been there.

Finally, though, Arya left she and Jon alone. The two prepared quickly for bed and climbed into their hastily set up cot that served as a bed. It was far more than anyone else in their small procession had, but it was a far cry from Winterfell’s comfortable feather beds. Those was a luxury Sansa missed dearly and she hoped the beds at Casterly Rock were comparable; she had great faith that Brienne would see to her every comfort upon their arrival.

For now, though, she curled up on the slightly hard cushions and draped herself half over her husband, instinctively seeking out his warmth. The tents were always drafty in spite of the fires and Jon’s body heat beckoned her on a nightly basis.

Jon’s arm wound around her and the two settled down to sleep. Little was said as they did this - the long days of riding tired both of them and they all rose early each morning so as to cover as much distance as they possibly could every day. The candles had already been blown out, and the only light that remained came from the fire in the centre that was there more for warmth than for light.

Sansa was sleepy as she shifted to get comfortable, but not so sleepy that she failed to notice the hardness against her leg when she accidently shifted her thigh over Jon’s groin.

Jon didn’t react, his eyes still closed, but Sansa knew that he had to have noticed. The two had bedded only once on their journey - and even then only because they knew Sansa’s most fertile days were upon them and so they felt obliged - and by now they were both used to more regular beddings. Jon’s body was likely frustrated by their sudden lack of activity, she mused.

Sansa smiled slyly to herself - her moon blood was not yet upon her, and she wondered if she could use this night to prevent it from coming at all.

Sansa shifted her thigh again, deliberately this time, and let the weight of it rest teasingly close to Jon’s manhood. The hand that was curled against his waist crept upwards until her fingers ghosted over a nipple, gently teasing it into hardness.

She felt Jon swallow in response, subtly shifting his hips so he could press against her thigh. Sansa mouthed at her husband’s neck, licking at the sensitive juncture where his neck met his shoulder. Her leg started to move just slightly up and down, and Jon’s hips reacted, chasing the pressure whenever it let up.

It was almost always like this. Sansa nearly always made the first move, and she was definitely the more aggressive of the two of them in bed. Jon was still vaguely hesitant, at least at first, and seemed almost ashamed of his pleasure. Sansa, though, after having experienced such a lack of it with Ramsay Bolton, had learned to take pride in the pleasure she and Jon found in one another, and aimed to prove it with every encounter.

Moving so that the heavy blanket remained over their bodies, keeping the heat in against the still cool air, Sansa moved to cover her husband’s body with her own, feeling the heat of him pressing hard against her own groin through the material of her nightgown.

Jon’s dark eyes stared up at her, and in them Sansa saw arousal, respect, trust and affection. It made her smile and she couldn’t resist leaning down to press their lips together, opening her mouth at Jon’s patient asking.

She ground her hips against his, knowing from experience that feeling her warmth through her dress drove him mad. Sure enough, a barely audible groan was pulled from Jon’s throat and he reached down to cup her and pull her more firmly against him. The feeling of his hardness so close but unable to breach her made Sansa’s skin tingle, and she could feel the wetness beginning between her legs.

How far she had come. Their first few times, she had needed so much foreplay to even begin to relax. After a few weeks she had relaxed more easily, but the wetness had taken a long time to ever manifest. Now it was different. Sometimes she still slipped into terrible memories and it took a long time to be able to relax - a few times she even found herself incapable of continuing, and she was grateful for Jon’s insistence that they stop entirely on those nights - but those times were becoming less frequent.

It would be a long time, she knew, before she stopped thinking about it altogether. Even on the good nights like tonight, she almost always tensed at the first penetration, anticipating pain that she logically knew would not come but that Ramsay had taught her body to expect. She was getting better at forcing him from her mind, though. Her determination to not let him rule her body any longer was paying off, albeit it was an ongoing, incomplete process.

Nights like tonight, though, proved that it _was_ working, if not as instantaneously as she would have liked.

At the feeling of the wetness between her legs, Sansa reached down to pull off Jon’s smallclothes, exposing his manhood beneath the blankets. She sat on his thighs, giving her just enough room to touch him briefly with her fingers. Jon shuddered beneath her, his hands on her hips, pushing at them only lightly. Like always he was gentle, only subtly trying to get her to move up so that he could enter her. She could pull away at any time, and that knowledge was enough to make her want to do anything but that.

Sansa smiled down at him, wondering idly if her own eyes had darkened the same way his had. The deep brown was almost black in this light, darkened by the firelight and lust.

She moved forward, lifting her dress so that her bare groin could rest so close to his manhood that he must have been able to feel the heat of her. Her eyes never left his as she reached down with one hand and took hold of him, rising just enough to press the head of him against her.

Jon swallowed and his eyes closed; his hips moved forward minutely, and she knew that he was desperately restraining himself from driving forward into her.

She loved this part, she was almost embarrassed to admit. She loved knowing that in these moments she had all the power. She trusted Jon completely, knew that he would not breach her without her consent, knew that he could control himself. Yet she could feel how much he _wanted_ to be inside her, and knowing that she could tease him without mercy made her feel powerful in a hundred different ways.

The power was addicting and freeing, and beyond everything it was _intimate_. She would trust nobody else like this, but with Jon she felt safe enough. It was exhilarating.

Sansa smiled down teasingly at his closed eyes as she held his manhood just at her lips. Enjoying her teasing, she kept him there for several moments, just barely letting the head of him rub against the wetness, hearing his breath catch in response.

Taking a calming breath, Sansa finally let him breach her, just barely an inch inside. She allowed herself a few moments to ground herself in the moment - despite her progress, the first few moments were always a little overwhelming - before letting him slide any deeper.

When she was finally seated atop him with him pressed fully inside her, she finally leaned forward to kiss him. He returned the kiss eagerly, and she giggled a little at the tension she could feel in him. He was perspiring all over, and she knew it was with the effort of holding himself back.

She moved teasingly at first, ever so slowly, and she felt the tension rising in her husband’s body. His eyes didn’t open when she placed one hand against his cheek, and she ceased all movement, knowing he’d open them then.

“Are you alright?” he murmured, concerned eyes watching her warily.

Sansa smiled, affection for him growing anew at the way his concern for her outweighed his arousal like it always did. “Must I do all the work, Jon?”

Jon looked pleasantly surprised, but then he quickly flipped them so that Sansa lay on her back. Jon supported himself on one arm while his other hand clasped hers next to her head on the pillow.

“Is this better, my queen?”

Sansa answered him by drawing her legs up and clenching her flesh around him, relishing in the gasp that it tore from his throat.

“Sansa…”

“Go on” she whispered, knowing he’d need her reassurance that she really was okay before he would move.

Sure enough, he took her words for the permission they had been. His hips quickly set a faster pace, driving in and out of her without instruction. It was both hard and gentle at the same time, and Sansa wondered, not for the first time, if he did that out of concern for her or if that was just how Jon Snow - Jon _Targaryen_ \- made love.

Sansa clutched at him, pressing kisses against his skin as she heard his shuddering gasps near her ear. She knew from the sounds he made that he getting close, and she leaned up so she could whisper in his ear.

“Touch me, Jon” she murmured.

In response, he let go of her hand and used his free hand to move down to her womanhood, stroking the sensitive place at the front that always brought her such pleasure.

Sansa gasped and felt her whole body shudder hard at the feeling of him pressing against her both inside and out, and she clung to him as she released.

Jon seemed to hesitate above her for a second, as if wondering if he should pull out of her now that she had reached her peak. Sansa tightened her legs around him in response, pushing down on him with her hands to encourage him to continue.

“Come on” she whispered, dragging his free hand up to her covered breast and encouraging him to touch her there; she knew how he loved her breasts. “You’re almost there.”

Jon groaned above her, and it was nearly a sob as he drove into her three more times and spilled there, his hips stuttering through his own release.

Sansa smiled and cradled him in her arms as he panted through the aftershocks, and she held her breath at the feeling of his seed spilling slightly out of her as he pulled out of her body. She angled her hips upwards, encouraging it to stay inside her and praying it would quicken there.

The two lay in a private, warm embrace for several moments, not speaking. No words were needed between them.

Afterwards neither of them was sure who fell asleep first, and neither mentioned to the other that there was anything different about that bedding, but both had felt it. Both of them knew.

Every bedding before that had been enjoyable in its own way, but all their encounters were borne of duty and they both knew it. This most recent bedding had been different, they both silently released, because it wasn’t just another bedding.

Neither was sure of their feelings towards the other yet - and both knew that it wasn’t really love, not yet - but both were certain of one thing.

In that dreary little tent, they had not just bedded each other. They had made love.


	10. Chapter 10

The sun was bright and blazing when the northern party arrived at Casterly Rock. The white walls would have gleamed in the sunlight once; they still did in parts but much of the castle was still dirty or in a state of disrepair.

Sansa was surprised by the state of the castle. It was her first time seeing it in person but she had heard many stories about it and none had portrayed it like this. At first she was startled by it but then she smiled. It was just like Brienne to ignore her own home in favour of repairing the West.

The western lands were certainly a lot better than they had been when the Walkers were defeated. She’d seen little of it herself but she would never forget the haunted, desperate look in Jaime Lannister’s eyes when he’d talked about it. It had doubtless resembled the look in her own eyes when she’d first surveyed the damage the war had done to the North.

Jon helped Sansa down from her horse as the gate opened and stood by her side as they waited to for their host to receive them, their northern party at their back. Most held back respectfully, though Arya lingered a little closer, a faithful shadow to her sister.

As the gate opened, Jaime Lannister walked out of the castle, a few men at his side. He reached Jon and Sansa in a few steps, and to their mutual surprise he bowed to them.

“The King and Queen in the North” he greeted them. “Welcome to Casterly Rock.”

“Lord Jaime” Jon greeted him.

Sansa smiled politely at their host in greeting, knowing all too well that Jon was more pleased than she was to see Jaime Lannister again. Their odd friendship still bemused her but she had long since decided that she would not begrudge her husband the valued tie with the Warden of the West.

“Lady … Queen Sansa. My betrothed sends her regrets. She wanted to be here to receive you, but I’m afraid she’s unwell at the moment.”

“That’s quite alright, my lord. I will visit with her when she is well.”

“I’m sure she’d be willing to receive you in her chambers privately.”

Sansa nodded gratefully, pleased that she wouldn’t be delayed in visiting with Brienne. She very nearly asked what was wrong but stopped herself at the last second. It was likely just morning sickness after all.

“Please, allow my men to guide your party to their rooms. I’m sure you’re all tired from the journey” Jaime said.

Jon signalled to the northern lords and ladies and they fell into step behind he and Sansa as they entered the castle alongside its lord.

The interior of the castle was more well kept than the exterior, Sansa noted. She saw little of Brienne’s influence, though, and it would have irritated her had she not recognised that she had no idea whatsoever what Brienne’s idea of interior decorating would look like. In all the time she’d known and adored her faithful protector, she had never really discussed such matters. It had never occurred to her that Brienne had an opinion on such things.

Lannister drapes hung all around the castle and although they were friends of both the crown and the North these days, it made both Jon and Sansa a little uncomfortable. The golden lion might mean something different nowadays but it would forever be a shadow of greed and war to them, a symbol of pain inflicted on their family.

Sansa hid a pained look as she wondered what her mother would have thought of her willingly entering Casterly Rock with no hesitation. Sansa herself was willing to let the past go in favour of building a prosperous future, but she had come to realise that her mother had been far more spiteful than she’d ever let her precious daughter see when they’d been together. Between Jon, Tyrion and Jaime, this was a fact Sansa had come to begrudgingly accept.

Jaime was talking, Sansa realised, and it took her a few moments to realise that he had been talking all the while they’d been walking through the halls. Several of the northern lords and their men had been ushered away by Lannister men, and now only a small party was at her back. Jon seemed unconcerned, though, occupied with chatting amicably with Ser Jaime, and Sansa made a conscious decision not to let it bother her.

Their party grew smaller and smaller, until the final guest - Arya - was shown to a rather large room just down the hall from the chambers which Jaime directed the King and Queen in the North to.

“I’ve prepared private chambers for the two of you in the east quadrant of the castle” Jaime said respectfully, and then he seemed to hesitate. “The servants have prepared them for you, but I can have another room prepared quickly if you’d prefer?”

Sansa wasn’t sure what surprised her more, Jaime’s offer or the fact that he would ever think to make it in the first place. He had to have known that her marriage to Jon Targaryen was a union of convenience and safety rather than romance, but she would have never expected Jaime to make an allowance for the fact that they might still be uncomfortable with one another. It was downright kind, and despite his aid during the war and Brienne’s feelings, kind was still a word she had trouble associating with Jaime Lannister.

Jon glanced at her, clearly trusting her to make the decision. She smiled at that.

“Thank you for your consideration, but separate chambers will not be necessary” Sansa answered firmly. “If you would please show us to our rooms?”

“Of course.”

If Jaime was surprised he gave nothing away. He merely showed the two to their chambers and departed with a respectful bow after informing them when and where dinner would be held.

Alone in their chambers, Jon shrugged off his heavy cloak and helped Sansa out of hers. It had been a long and rather unpleasant journey and both were tired.

“I think I will rest until dinner” Jon said, rolling his stiff shoulders. “Will you be joining me, my queen?”

“I am tired, but I think I will wait until after supper” Sansa replied, patting her slightly dirty dress. “I will change and see if Brienne is up for visitors.”

Jon nodded in understanding and left her to prepare herself.

Sansa wasted little time, simply changing into a simple gown - Brienne had seen her at far lower points, after all, and she had no desire to parade herself for the glee of Lannister soldiers - and leaving to find her friend.

It did not surprise her in the slightest that when she exited the room, Arya was standing outside already. Sansa smiled at her sister, feeling more confident in this castle filled with Lannisters with Arya and her sword at her side.

 

/

 

Jon had intended to rest but once he sat down he found that he was too tense. He trusted Jaime Lannister - despite the man’s incredibly dubious past he had proved himself trustworthy during the fight against the Walkers and Jon respected his decision to turn against his sister and lover - but this was still an unwelcoming place for northerners. He hoped his men were more at ease than he was.

After trying to sleep and then trying to read, the King in the North left his chambers in search of the Warden of the West.

A guard directed him to Jaime’s private solar, where he found the man buried in parchments and scrolls.

“King Jon” he greeted. “Is there a problem?”

“No” Jon reassured, trying to smile. “I didn’t want to waste time.”

“You have business with me?”

“No more so than usual.”

That brought a smile to Jaime’s face, and Jon returned it - the two corresponded regularly via raven, and had been known to occasionally complain to one another about their workloads.

“What’s all this?” Jon asked, indicating the parchments that were virtually spilling off the desk.

“All about the wedding mostly.” Jaime rolled up one scroll and cast it aside, not seeming to care when it unfolded and half unrolled again. “Most of the lords and ladies don’t want to bother trying to make it on such short notice and half of them seem to think I’ll be mortally offended.”

“Their absence is a tragedy” Jon snorted, and Jaime grinned in response.

“Oh yes” he agreed. “Fewer stony faces and simpering wenches. I’m sure I will be devastated.”

Jon smiled a little, remembering his own wedding. He could have done with fewer of the guests that had attended.

“Speaking of wedding guests, have you heard from Daenerys and Tyrion?” he asked. “Are they planning to attend?”

The smile slipped off Jaime’s face. “My brother is already here.”

“He is?”

“Tyrion arrived three days ago” Jaime said. “From what he says, the queen is planning to arrive shortly before the ceremony.”

Jaime seemed unhappy and had tensed up the moment the two were mentioned. It surprised Jon - although there was no love lost between Jaime and the former Mother of Dragons, he had never hidden the fact that he cared for his younger brother. Jon would have thought Tyrion’s return to Casterly Rock would have pleased him.

“And how is Tyrion enjoying his role as Hand of the Queen?”

“He likes it well enough, I suppose” Jaime shrugged, leaning back in his chair. A slight smile crossed his features. “He’s good at it.”

“Aye. He does seem to be.”

“He’s a better Hand than she is a queen.”

Jon glanced down, not sure how to reply. Deep down he knew that he agreed with Jaime, but he knew better than to point it out. It would not do to speak ill of his aunt.

“She is still learning” Jon replied cautiously. “We all are.”

Jaime smirked. “Well said.”

A silence - vaguely tense - fell over the two. Jon would have broken it with a polite question about how repairs to the castle were going, but Jaime beat him to it by asking him how things were going in the North.

Any awkwardness was quickly forgotten in discussions about repairs.

 

/

 

While Jon discussed such impersonal matters, Sansa tended to the far more personal reunion which she had longed for. After being directed by two separate guards - one who outright glared until Arya proved she was superior at that and another who seemed frightened of them both - she finally found herself outside Brienne’s private chambers.

“Wait outside, Arya.”

Her sister was probably rolling her eyes, but Sansa didn’t spare her a glance. She knew Arya would wait outside the door until she reappeared, and she felt safer knowing her sister was there. No matter how many guards they could have brought with them, she would always trust Arya more.

Sansa knocked on the door and a haggard-looking maid opened it.

“I am Queen Sansa Stark of Winterfell” she announced. “Is Lady Brienne able to receive me?”

The maid looked terrified and Sansa felt a spike of pity for the poor girl; she was probably no older than fourteen and had doubtless been ordered to refuse any guests. It had to be daunting to be torn between refusing her lady’s order and refusing a queen.

Thankfully for the young maid, Brienne’s voice resounded from within the room before she could answer.

“Let her in, Lorica”.

A relieved look crossed the maid’s face and she stepped aside to admit Sansa, hesitating when she caught sight of Arya who remained outside. She closed the door very slowly, clearly uncertain as to whether or not she was allowed to shut it on the queen’s bodyguard. Sansa guessed she hadn’t been a handmaiden very long.

She ignored the girl, though, too caught up in her barely hidden excitement at finally seeing her old friend after so many weeks.

Brienne looked well, if a little tired. She certainly didn’t look sick, as Sansa had feared she would. Her old protector wore no armour now but was still dressed in garb that would have looked more natural on a man. By now, though, Sansa thought it rather suited her; she was pleased to see that neither life at the Rock nor pregnancy had changed Brienne. She did notice, though, that the shirt Brienne wore was slightly distended by a growing bump, and Sansa’s breath caught in her throat as she witnessed the evidence of her friend’s coming babe.  

Despite this, the small smile on her friend's face was as familiar as ever.

“Lady Brienne. It’s good to see you.”

Brienne bowed to her, although she did not bow as low as she used to - the bump in her middle prevented that. Sansa hid a smile at the sight of her friend still favouring the bow over the curtsey, despite her pregnancy.

“Queen Sansa” Brienne smiled. “I apologise that I was not able to meet you at the gate. I was … unwell, when word came.”

“That’s alright, Brienne” Sansa said.

Silence fell between them and Brienne seemed almost confused for a second before she hurriedly gestured to her handmaiden.

“You can go, Lorica” she said, her words kind but slightly awkward. “I will call if I need you.”

The handmaiden curtseyed low and scurried out the door - Sansa hoped Arya didn’t scare her on the way.

After she left, Sansa smiled. “Your handmaiden seems a little tense.”

“Lorica. She’s never been a handmaiden before.” Brienne shrugged a little self-consciously. “I’m not used to having one, either.”

Sansa nodded in understanding.

“How are you, my lady? Pardon me. I mean, my queen?”

“It’s alright, Brienne” Sansa laughed, a genuine smile crossing her face for the first time in several days. “I won’t hold it against you. And I’m doing well. The North is rebuilding and life at Winterfell is … easier. Life is easier than it’s been in years.”

Brienne nodded, her eyes flashing with sympathy at the reminder of Sansa’s difficult past. “I’m pleased to hear that.”

“And you? How is life here at Casterly Rock?”

“It’s … interesting, my queen” Brienne said, offering a seat to Sansa and taking one herself once Sansa was seated. “Running a castle is quite different to what I’m used to.” She smirked, looking suddenly pleased with herself. “The girls do seem to be enjoying their new lessons, though, those that are participating.”

“What kind of lessons?”

“Swordplay, lances, archery. Anything they’re willing to try. Their mothers can be hesitant, but so far I’ve met few who actually challenge me on it. Most stop trying when they meet me face to face.”

The two shared a laugh, although they sobered quickly.

“And how are you Brienne?”

“I’m well, thank you, my queen” Brienne replied, understanding what Sansa was really asking. “I am still sick most mornings and evenings, but during the day it eases. The babe is doing well, as far as the maester can tell.”

The smile on Sansa’s face faltered a little but she didn’t let it fall as she continued. “What’s it like?”

“It’s strange” Brienne smiled, and suddenly she seemed both much younger and much wiser than she ever had before, and happier. “The maester says I’m about four moons along. I haven’t felt any movement yet, but he says that’s normal.” Brienne grinned without meaning to and glanced at Sansa almost shyly. “I could do without the sickness, if I’m honest.”

Sansa laughed kindly. “I can imagine.”

The response was meant genuinely, but it fell between the two women heavily. Sansa truly could only imagine, and that fact lingered unpleasantly in the air.

“I hope to be with child soon, too” Sansa said, so quietly it was nearly a whisper. “I’d hoped to be already. I wish we could go through this together.”

“We will, my lady” Brienne said, not bothering to correct the title this time. She stood and walked over to Sansa, reaching out boldly to take her hand. Sansa held onto her, alternating between trying to maintain eye contact and glancing at Brienne’s slightly swollen middle. “I may deliver first, but I’m sure you will be with child before my babe arrives.”

“I hope so” Sansa said, and if her eyes were vaguely watery then nobody but she and Brienne would ever know.

Sansa held onto Brienne for a few comforting moments before she forced a smile and asked how repairs to the castle were going.

Sure enough, she was unsurprised to learn that Brienne was focusing extensively on the West and taking little interest in the exterior of the Rock. Sansa enquired politely about the wedding preparations, and laughed when she heard that Brienne had largely left the preparations to Ser Jaime.

The two old friends fell into easy conversation, and the heavy atmosphere lightened quickly.

Despite the pain of seeing her friend’s pregnancy and her tiredness after the long journey south, Sansa found that being able to speak freely to Brienne once again made the entire ordeal worth it.


	11. Chapter 11

It was the day before the wedding before Daenerys Targaryen arrived at Casterly Rock. She arrived with greater fanfare than Jon and Sansa had, but compared to her history of arriving on the back of a dragon, she looked less than impressive as she jumped down unaided from her horse.

The King and Queen in the North stood with the Lord and Lady of the Rock as they received the southern queen. They watched as Daenerys exchanged cool greetings with Jaime and Brienne, extending only as much kindness as was polite.

Her smile towards her nephew was noticeably warmer. “Nephew. It is good to see you in person again.”

“For me as well, Your Grace” Jon answered.

Jon pretended not to notice that his aunt’s smile slipped away at his formal greeting. He didn’t intend to insult her - in fact Jon was inclined to go out of his way not to offend his fiery-tempered relative - but their relationship was not truly familial.

“Queen Sansa.”

“Queen Daenerys.”

An awkward silence fell over the assembled group and probably would have lingered if it had not been for the dwarf that sauntered out of the castle.

“My Queen” Tyrion greeted warmly, bowing his head respectfully. “Forgive my late arrival. So many matters to attend to.”

“Tyrion.” Daenerys’ smile was small and she was trying to hide it, but it was clear that she was pleased to see her Hand. “I hope the matters you’ve been attending to are matters of the crown. Your workload has increased in your absence.”

Tyrion grinned in response. “I’m sure it will wait for my return. The matters I have here are far more important, Your Grace. It would seem my charming brother has ordered far fewer barrels of wine than will be needed for a proper wedding!”

The group all smiled or laughed in response; even Daenerys smiled broadly.

“I’m sure you will have made all the necessary corrections, brother” Jaime replied.

“Fifteen barrels of good Dornish wine will be here by nightfall” Tyrion assured him, before turning to face his queen. “I made sure, Your Grace, to secure your favourite flavours.”

“How thoughtful of you.”

The group fell easily then into a conversation about flavours of wine and the southern queen’s journey to the Rock. Servants arrived to escort her guests to their quarters, and as the small group made their way to Brienne’s private, comfortable solar to socialise, Jon found himself incredibly thankful to the gods for sending them the gift of Tyrion Lannister. Nobody else was able to appease Daenerys Targaryen quite like he was.

 

/

 

To her credit, the Dragon Queen waited until the evening before she sought Jon out privately. It surprised him; he’d expected her to grow tired of making dull conversation with Jaime Lannister within minutes.

Jon was within his private chambers with Sansa when the knock on the door came. He called out for whoever was there to enter and was unsurprised when the door opened to reveal Daenerys and Tyrion side by side.

The northern rules rose from their seats as one.

“Your Grace. Lord Tyrion” Sansa greeted. “Can we help you?”

“I would have a word with my nephew, Queen Sansa. Alone, if you will.”

Sansa glanced at Jon and saw his hesitance in his eyes. Part of her wanted to refuse - anything the southern queen had to say to him, she could say in front of his wife - but she didn’t dare. After all, she already knew why Daenerys was here, and she didn’t want to hear it. Besides, she didn’t want to get into a fight with this woman.

“Of course” Sansa replied, a hint of ice creeping into her voice.

“Queen Sansa, if you would permit me to escort you downstairs? My brother is serving some of the famous crescetations of the Rock.”

Sansa smiled in response and took Tyrion’s arm, allowing him to lead her from the room and down to where she knew Jaime and Brienne would be waiting with several of the northern lords.

Daenerys was silent until the door shut behind her.

“Nephew.”

“Queen Daenerys.”

Daenerys sat down uninvited in the chair Sansa had vacated. Jon sat opposite her, unhappy with how uncomfortable the atmosphere in the room was.

“Are you hiding from me in here?”

Jon glanced up quickly. “We were just preparing for the wedding, Your Grace.”

“Your Grace” Daenerys repeated, her tone slightly mocking and highly offended. “Why do you call me that still?”

“It is your proper title.”

“As it is yours” Daenerys replied, leaning forward slightly. “One would think we wouldn’t need titles by now, Jon. We are family.”

Jon took a deep breath, holding his aunt’s gaze as well as he could. “We are. I’m sorry if I’ve … upset you.”

“You don’t have it in you to upset me” Daenerys replied unkindly, but her face softened a little. “I don’t suppose you have good news for me?”

“That depends on how you define good news. The North is being rebuilt, everybody is healing. I’d say that’s very good news. But that’s not what you meant, is it?”

“No.” Daenerys sat back in the chair, resting her forearms regally on the chair’s padded arms. “It’s been moons since you were wed. I’d hoped that you had kept the good news from me until now so you could tell me in person, but I gather that’s not the case?”

“I’m afraid not.” Jon sat up a little straighter, feeling the need to defend both himself and Sansa. “I wish I had good news to give you, but I wouldn’t lie to you.”

“I know. Have you been trying?”

“Yes” Jon answered instantly, his cheeks flushing a little at the new topic. “We have been trying ever since the wedding. Both of us have been praying.”

“Prayer is not what gives children, nephew.”

“No, I suppose not.”

A quiet fell over the room; it was uncomfortable still but not so oppressive now. Daenerys had clearly been expecting some speech about how he couldn’t take Sansa yet. She seemed both surprised and, Jon was stunned to realise, concerned about the truth.

“I haven’t forgotten our deal, Your … Aunt Daenerys” Jon said, so quietly his voice was barely more than a whisper. The familial term was foreign on his tongue but he knew it warmed her. “We are trying. And we _will_ give you an heir.”

“I’m sure you will. The seven kingdoms need stability, now more than ever. The south is recovering as well, but an heir is essential to that stability continuing.”

“I know.”

Daenerys was quiet for a moment, seemingly contemplating something in her head, before she stood and walked to the bedside table where a goblet of wine sat. It had been brought up for Sansa by a servant, though Sansa hadn’t touched it. The Dragon Queen took a slow sip, and she kept her back turned to her nephew while she spoke.

“It was a full moon when I conceived my child with Khal Drogo.” Daenerys let the words hang in the air, only continuing when Jon didn’t answer. “A clear night. Drogo had just won a fight, his blood was still pumping.” Daenerys smiled, and though he couldn’t see it Jon heard it in her voice. “I didn’t realise I was pregnant until more than two moons later.”

“How do you know when you conceived?”

“I had a Lys handmaiden. She helped me count back the days.” She took her seat across from Jon once again, the goblet of wine still in hand. “I don’t know how much of this you want to hear. I don’t know if any of it will be helpful.”

Jon thought for a moment. He truly didn’t want to hear anything about his aunt’s former sex life with a horselord, but if she had any words of wisdom that might help him conceive the child they both so desperately needed, then he owed it to them both to at least listen.

Jon grimaced but he nodded. “Spare me the precise details?”

“I’ll try to be brief” Daenerys smirked, her slight smile betraying her amusement. “In as short a way as I can say this, it was fast. The night Rhaego was conceived. Drogo’s spirit was high that night, and we hadn’t been together for a few days. I’d eaten something that didn’t agree with me, so he hadn’t touched me.” Daenerys smiled fondly and distantly to herself before she glanced back up at Jon. “It was quick, but he was gentle.”

Jon breathed a sigh of relief at that - he’d been slightly afraid that she would say he needed to take Sansa hard and fast. That was something he didn’t think he could do. He knew it certainly wasn’t something Sansa could do.

“We’ve … we’ve done it like that” Jon murmured, his face reddening. “Several times.”

“What position?”

“ _What_?”

“My apologies, nephew” Daenerys laughed. “I don’t mean to pry. Believe me, I have no interest in hearing the specifics of your life in the bedroom. I only mean that my handmaiden did once tell me that the position factors into conception.”

Jon looked away, deciding not to respond. There were some things he didn’t need his aunt to know.

Daenerys didn’t seemed deterred, merely looking into her wine as she continued. “It may help you to know. The night I fell pregnant, Drogo took me from behind.”

Jon’s eyes closed, his expression pained. That was something else he hadn’t wanted to hear.

He and Sansa had lain together now many times, and in a few different ways. But not like that. Never like that. Sansa had told him early on in their relationship that she couldn’t do it like that. She had to know it was him and not Ramsay Bolton. She always wanted to see his face so she could be sure of where she was and who she was with.

“Jon?”

Jon looked up. Daenerys looked quizzical, and he knew that meant he had been quiet for some time before she’d spoken.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes, but … I don’t know that that’s possible for me. For Sansa.”

Daenerys frowned but she didn’t argue. Jon wasn’t sure how much she knew about Sansa’s past with Joffrey and Tyrion and Ramsay, but it wasn’t his place to explain it. If Daenerys had questions, she would need to put them to Sansa.

Thankfully, the queen did not pressure the issue. Instead she merely shrugged and sipped at her wine.

“In any case, position factors into it, but it is only a factor. I’m sure Sansa will conceive soon.”

“Yes. I’m sure she will.”

“And you will inform me as soon as she has?”

Jon’s expression hardened a little at the reminder of their deal. “I give you my word.”

“Good” Daenerys replied, and she set her empty glass down and rose from her seat. “I will see you at the wedding, nephew.”

She patted Jon’s shoulder as she walked past him, giving him no time to rise and show her out properly.

Left alone, Jon let out a deep sigh. Their conversation had been more intimate and less awkward than he had imagined, and he was pleased Daenerys had only enquired and not pushed for answers, but it didn’t change anything.

At any rate, her advice was decidedly unhelpful. He wasn’t going to take Sansa that way, not ever.

He just hoped he would be able to put a child in her some other way, and soon.


	12. Chapter 12

It was bright and sunny the next afternoon when Jaime and Brienne were wed. The wedding took place outside the castle, beneath Lannister drapes and in the company of lords and ladies from all over the seven kingdoms.

Brienne was accompanied on her wedding walk by her father, Lord Selwyn Tarth. He was a reasonably tall and handsome man for his age, though shorter than his daughter, and well dressed. He looked grand as he led his daughter by the arm, and a great deal more at ease than she under the eyes of their guests.

Brienne wore a long white gown that split off over the knees. Underneath were white trousers. It was a very strange garment, something that was distinctively feminine but still rather odd on a lady. Her slightly distended stomach was visible in the tight fabric of the gown. On anyone else, the ensemble would have looked ridiculous. 

Brienne looked stunning.

Sansa stood at the front of the wedding party alongside her husband, Queen Daenerys, Lord Tyrion and several other prominent lords and ladies. Jaime and Brienne had honoured both she and Jon by placing them on equal footing with the southern queen - if it had not been for Jon’s Targaryen blood, Daenerys would have been insulted.

Jaime stood before them all, splendid in his golden wedding robes. The Lannister red cloak over his arm stood in stark contrast to the white bricks of the castle and his own golden garb. 

The entire party watched as Brienne smiled slightly self consciously at her father in thanks and bent to let him kiss her cheek. Lord Selwyn returned the smile before nodding in respect to Jaime, and Sansa was almost surprised to note that the Evenstar’s smile seemed entirely genuine. 

Brienne and Jaime stood across from one another, smiling, for a moment before Jaime was asked to cloak the bride and bring her under his protection. Both grinned at the comment; Brienne did not need protection and these days Jaime certainly wasn’t going to beat her in a fight. Few knew it, but he wasn’t often able to beat her in an argument either.

Nonetheless, Brienne turned silently and Jaime reached up to cloak his bride in his red cloak. It was an awkward gesture with his one functional hand, but Brienne dutifully stood as he fumbled slightly at the right shoulder, and when she turned back to face him she drew the cloak more tightly around her so it wouldn’t fall.

The guests all watched as their hands were bound together and they said the sacred words. 

“I am hers and she is mine, from this day until the end of my days” they finished as one. 

The smile they shared before their lips met and sealed their union was one of honest, genuine love. Jon and Sansa glanced at one another as they applauded the kiss, both vaguely amused at the reminder of their own wedding. 

This wedding was far better. Theirs had been dutiful and tense, this one was desired and full of love. Still, both were happy for both Jaime and Brienne. The two deserved to be happy.

And they certainly were, as they turned to face their cheering guests with joined hands. 

 

/

 

The wedding feast that followed was grander than that of the King and Queen in the North. The northern guests couldn’t help but scoff a little at the way southerners threw around gold and silver as a means to prove their stature, but none commented on it. Sansa, though, couldn’t help but notice that Brienne rolled her eyes once or twice at some of Jaime’s choices.

It was a pleasant feast, with a light atmosphere and pleasant conversation. Jon and Sansa shared the head table on its raised platform, along with the bride and groom, Lord Tyrion, Queen Daenerys, the newly appointed Prince of Dorne, and Lord Selwyn Tarth. Sansa was seated between her husband and Lord Selwyn, and found that conversation was easy with the two. 

Jon noticed that his wife seemed to be enjoying herself and left her to her conversation with Brienne’s father while he spoke with Jaime. The man seemed to be at ease for the first time since Jon had arrived and he was excellent company with a few drinks in him.

Looking down at the assembled guests, he saw that Lady Lyanna Mormont was in deep conversation with one of the lesser lords of the Reach, though Jon did not know his name. Lord Ned Umber seemed to have been drawn into a singing contest at his table with some of the Dornish guests; Jon hoped he wasn’t drinking too much. Arya, he noticed, was sipping wine and talking with some of their northern party, but her eyes were focused on the head table. 

He was proud of his little sister - Arya would never stop being that no matter what his bloodline was. Arya was proving to be a fine protector for Sansa, keeping her distance enough to respect her sister but remaining vigilant.

“Will you stay with us long after the wedding, Your Grace?” Jaime asked suddenly, and Jon got the impression the man had asked this already while he was distracted watching his northern lords and ladies mingle.

“Not too long” Jon said with a smile. “Your hospitality is appreciated, but we’ve been away too long already. It’s a long journey home.”

“Of course” Jaime replied, and he might have said more but he was swiftly drawn into a conversation by his brother, who called to him from his place between Queen Daenerys and the Dornish prince. 

Jon turned to speak with his wife, and was surprised to see her frowning at him.

“Is something wrong?”

“No” Sansa said, still frowning. “You just said we’d be leaving soon. How soon were you thinking?”

“I don’t know” Jon shrugged. “We’ll need a couple of days to prepare for the journey. We could head out soon after.”

“Are you desperate to leave?”

Jon frowned at his wife’s sharp tone. “I’m not desperate to leave, but we need to get back to Winterfell. We’ve been gone weeks as it is, we shouldn’t stay away any longer than we need to.”

Sansa fell quiet, and Jon could have sworn she glared at him before swiftly turning to face Lord Selwyn and immediately drawing him into a new conversation. With the two engaged in their own talk and Jaime busy with Tyrion, Jon felt suddenly isolated at the wedding table, and found that he lost his appetite long before the final course arrived. 

The wedding went on with no problems, no serious arguments, and all the appropriate fanfare. Drinking and dancing went on long into the evening, long after Jaime had taken his bride by the hand and escorted her to their bedchambers. Jon was not surprised at all to find that no bedding ceremony took place - he was sure that Brienne would have severed the hand of any man who tried.

With so many people around, it was not until late in the evening, when the two retired to their chambers, that Jon was able to talk to Sansa about their strained dinner conversation.

For the first time since the two had arrived at Casterly Rock, Jon felt a little uncomfortable about sharing chambers with his wife as he sat down on their bed and asked what had happened earlier. He would have thought nothing of it at Winterfell, where Sansa had her own quarters to flee to should she not want to talk to him, but this was a little different.

“Do you want to stay here?” he asked bluntly.

Sansa turned to face him from where she had been untying her gown. “Jon, I’m tired. Do we have to do this now?”

“Yes. I’m sorry, Sansa, but I need to know how long you’re expecting me to stay here.”

“I don't know! I haven’t put a time limit on anything, Jon.” Sansa folded her arms and raised her chin in defiance. “If you don’t want to stay here any longer, feel free to head north tomorrow. I won’t stop you.”

“I’m not leaving you here.”

“I’m perfectly safe” Sansa snapped. “I have Arya, and Brienne. She’d never let anyone harm me here.”

“I don’t think you’d get hurt, Sansa, I just don’t want to leave you here. You’re … you’re my queen. I shouldn’t leave without you.”

“Then don’t” Sansa said simply. “I don’t plan on staying forever, Jon. But I’m not going to leave right now just because the wedding’s over. I want to spend some more time with Brienne.”

“I know you do” Jon said gently, stepping forward so there was little space between them. “I don’t want to rush you away, Sansa, but you’re the Queen in the North. You belong in the North.”

“I know. And I will return to Winterfell soon, but just … I need a few more days at least.”

Jon hesitated for a moment and then sighed in defeat. “Alright. A few more days. But then we’ve got to go home.”

Sansa pressed her lips together and looked decidedly unhappy, but she nodded once in response.

Jon got the impression she was still a little mad at him and would have said more, but Sansa had already turned her back to him and started undressing. He followed her lead, and soon the two crawled into their shared bed together. 

It was warm enough in the south, even in cooler weather, that they didn’t need to wrap around one another to share body heat. Jon was glad of that, as Sansa had curled up with her back to him and didn’t seem inclined to move any closer than she already was. Jon respected her boundaries and kept carefully to his own side of the bed.

When the two rose in the morning their fight was behind them and the tension was gone, but Jon nonetheless felt guilty as he began to make preparations for their journey back to Winterfell.


	13. Chapter 13

In something akin to a compromise, Jon and Sansa remained at Casterly Rock for eleven days after the wedding. Jon spent most of that time with the northern lords, none of whom were pleased at the extended stay. Most were too polite to argue with their king, but young Lyanna Mormont spoke for all of them.

Jon made all the preparations for their journey north, with some help from Jaime Lannister. Jaime provided more provisions for their travels than Jon would have ever asked for, and did so without anyone asking him to. Jon couldn’t help but feel bad for the man, who people still called ‘Kingslayer’ and ‘sister-fucker’ behind his back. So many people thought him a selfish, loathsome man, and they were wrong.

Marriage agreed with Jaime instantly in a way it hadn’t with Jon. The Lord of Casterly Rock would likely have spent more time with Jon had he not been so occupied with his bride.

Sansa spent a great deal of time with Brienne, too, when she wasn’t with her new husband. Brienne seemed to go out of her way to make time for Sansa, and Sansa loved her for it. Especially when Brienne fulfilled a promise she’d made on Sansa’s first day at the Rock.

By the time the northern party was ready to leave, Sansa felt far more ready to say goodbye. She bid a fond, sad farewell to her old friend, with promises for another reunion once Brienne’s babe arrived. She even kissed Jaime’s cheek warmly, a courtesy afforded out of love for Brienne but one that she knew Jaime appreciated.

Jon’s farewells were equally warm, if a little less personal, and less strained that the goodbye he had shared with Queen Daenerys several days earlier. The southern queen had departed only two days after the wedding, with her weary party looking very much like they’d rather stay longer. Tyrion had gone with her, sharing warm handshakes with both Jon and Sansa before he’d left.

Daenerys had merely nodded at Sansa, though she had embraced Jon tightly. It was a tense, unfamiliar gesture, but Jon had returned it and dutifully bid his aunt a safe journey. She had left him with the words that she hoped for good news soon, and Jon still wasn’t sure if she’d intended it as a threat or not, but it had certainly felt like one.

Saying goodbye to the Lord and Lady of the Rock was easier; there was no hostility there.

Nevertheless, Jon was relieved when the northern party was finally on the move, travelling in the direction of the King’s Road and the shortest possible route back to the North.

 

/

 

The journey north was easier than the journey south had been. The weather was cold but dry, and the horses made good time. Once they reached the King’s Road it was a simple journey, and the northern party was in good spirits as they trudged back to their families and their holdfasts.

Jon and Sansa spent more time together than they had at the Rock, when he had respected her wish to spend time alone with Brienne. They sat their horses side by side, and often dined alone in their tent, or with only Arya for company.

They didn’t bed one another, though. After the evening of the wedding, things were slightly strained and nothing felt entirely right, and neither liked it. During the days which their maester had long since calculated to be Sansa’s most fertile days, they did discuss the possibility of a bedding but it had been a poor day’s ride in some rare heavy rain and neither was up for it.

Sansa’s blood came and went on the first days of the ride and both she and Jon resigned themselves to knowing that there would be no babe on this moon or the next.

Their relationship had lost something of the closeness they had both been growing used to, and both felt the loss. The ride and the northern lords provided a wonderful distraction, but both were enormously glad to see their familiar childhood home arrive on the horizon. They lost the northern lords to their own strongholds along the way, and so by the time they arrived so close to Winterfell, only Jon, Sansa, Arya and their personal guards were on horseback and galloping towards the castle.

It took several hours before everybody was settled in the castle, though there was little rest for either the king or queen. Both were almost instantly swept into conversations and disputes that had arisen during their absence, and neither was able to put it off for even a day. Sansa did not see her husband for the full day, though she was busy enough that she scarcely noticed.

Eventually the moon was high in the sky and Sansa’s eyes were shutting without her permission. She was still trying to settle one particular problem in the kitchens and would have liked to have this remedied tonight, but her sister practically shoved her to her feet and ordered her to bed. Sansa felt like she ought to protest - Arya may be her sister and her guard, but she was a queen - but found that she was honestly much too tired to care for her own lack of etiquette, and she allowed Arya to escort her to her bedchamber.

She waited until Arya had slipped away into the darkness before she walked away from her chambers without entering.

She held her head high as she walked briskly to Jon’s chambers and there she placed her hand on the door handle before thinking the better of it and instead raising the same hand to knock. Before their trip south she wouldn’t have bothered, but she and Jon weren’t in the best place right now and she knew she’d prefer him to knock if things had been reversed.

There was a long pause and Sansa had almost convinced herself that Jon had not yet retired to his chambers before the door finally opened. Jon was still fully dressed, so he hadn’t retired long ago, and he looked as weary as Sansa felt. She bit her lip, thinking that perhaps she ought to have left this until the morning, before holding her head higher and asking if she could come in.

Jon seemed surprised but he didn’t hesitate to step aside to let her enter. “Of course, Sansa. You don’t have to ask.”

Sansa nodded, and took him at his word as she removed her heavy outer robe and sat at the edge of his bed. Jon shut the door before taking his place next to her, though she noticed that he kept a respectful foot of distance between them.

“Is there something you needed, Sansa?”

“Yes.” Sansa took a deep breath. “I’m sorry.”

“What?”

“I know things had been … tense between us lately, Jon. And I know that’s my fault.”

“Sansa, no, it’s not your fault. I know you wanted to stay with Brienne. I’m sorry I made it sound like we had to leave right after the wedding.”

“You were right” Sansa said, and she smiled tiredly. “If we had left right after the wedding, maybe it would have been less chaotic coming home.”

“I don’t think a few days would have made much of a difference” Jon said, a slight smile gracing his features. “I’m glad to be home, though.”

“So am I.” Sansa reached out and took his hand. “Jon, I know I wanted to stay with Brienne longer, but I am glad to be home all the same. You were right. The Queen in the North belongs in the North. I just ... ” She hesitated, and continued only when she felt Jon squeeze her hand in reassurance. “It was my first time in the South where I was actually happy.”

“It won’t be the last. We’ll go south again. You’ll have lots of happy memories of the south, Sansa. I promise.”

“I know. I told Brienne I’d like to visit when her babe arrives.”

“That sounds like a good idea. We’ll send a gift as well.”

“Of course. A sword if it’s a boy, and if it’s a girl … well, it’ll still be a sword.”

Jon and Sansa both grinned at the notion of Brienne’s child standing armed with a sword, a skilled master of the art regardless of their sex. It wasn’t difficult to imagine, and they both knew that Jaime would not object.

Their smiles broke some of the tension, and Sansa was almost tempted not to say what she had come here to say, but she knew she had to.

“Jon, I have to tell you something. There was a reason I didn’t want to leave Casterly Rock right after the wedding, and it wasn’t just that I wanted to spend time with Brienne.”

“What, then?”

“I had Brienne’s maester examine me.”

Jon frowned in confusion.

“Jon, we’ve been trying for the last few moons and we’re … we just don’t seem to be getting anywhere. I know sometimes it takes a while but still. I just wanted to ... ” She looked down at her lap, unable to maintain eye contact as she continued. “I had to know there wasn’t something wrong with me.”

“What?”

“Some women aren’t able to have children, Jon. And after everything Ramsay did to me … I had to make sure I could still have them.”

Jon was tense but he held her hand firmly. “Sansa, what does that have to with staying at the Rock?”

Sansa could almost feel herself trembling and she hated herself for it. She _knew_ that she had nothing to be ashamed of, but talking about it out loud made every little insecurity bubble to the surface. Despite the fact that she knew she was safe here with Jon, she couldn’t help but remember the twisted fury on Ramsay Bolton’s face when he saw her moon blood had arrived and punished her for it.

_“You like to bleed so much, my pretty wife? Well, let me help you with that.”_

Sansa’s eyes squeezed shut at the memory. Jon was _not_ Ramsay. Jon had been supportive and kind throughout their struggle to conceive, and he wouldn’t stop being so now. Not when she didn’t even have bad news for him.

She took a steadying breath. “I needed Brienne there. To make sure everything was okay, the maester had to examine me. I had to be undressed and open so he could see.” She looked up at last and bravely met Jon’s eyes. “I’m sorry. I know you would have been there if I’d asked. But I just … I needed it to be Brienne.”

“Sansa...”

“After Ramsay, she was the one who was there, Jon. I was hurt and Brienne was the only person I trusted to make sure I would heal. Having a maester look at me is something I’ve been thinking about for a long time, but I needed Brienne with me. I couldn’t face it alone.”

Jon was quite for a few long moments, processing what his wife had just told him. His guts twisted inside him; he’d had no idea Sansa was still so haunted by the shade of her evil former husband. He had known she hadn’t recovered from it completely, but he only now began to understand just how brave she was every time she undressed in front of him, every time she let him touch her. She enjoyed her time with him, he was certain of that, but it was still hard to hear that she was still suffering this way.

“I am so sorry, Sansa” Jon whispered. “I had no idea you were so scared he might have left you unable to have children.”

“You had no reason to assume that, Jon” Sansa said kindly. “Please don’t apologise. You’ve done nothing wrong. This was about _me_. I had to know for sure, and I had to wait until Brienne was with me to do it. I’m sorry. She was the only person I trusted to be there if he gave me bad news.”

“I understand, Sansa, don’t be sorry” Jon said, his voice so quiet she barely heard him. “Was it?”

“Was what?”

“Was it bad news?”

“Oh.” And finally, Sansa’s lips pulled up into a genuine smile. “No, it wasn’t. He told me everything’s fine. And he gave me some herbs I can mix into a drink that he said might help with conception.”

Jon breathed a sigh of relief. He would never have blamed Sansa for being unable to have children, but he didn’t know what he would have done if he’d had to break such news to his fierce, impatient aunt. Knowing he didn’t have to do was a thoroughly welcomed thought.

“That’s good, Sansa. That’s brilliant.”

Sansa nodded and, after a moment’s hesitation, she leaned forward and embraced her husband, smiling in relief as his arms wound around her without hesitating.

“Sansa, I understand why you didn’t want to tell me. I know you why you needed Brienne there. Just in the future, don’t let me make you uncomfortable. Tell me you need me to trust you, and I promise, I will.”

Sansa shut her eyes tightly against the tears of relief that she refused to let fall and kissed her husband’s cheek in thanks and agreement.

That night she and Jon held onto one another for so long that they nearly fell asleep sitting up. Once they had finally been able to let go for long enough to dress for bed, Sansa curled up with Jon under the blankets without hesitation, not having to ask if he wanted her presence for the night.

The two fell asleep as soon as they were entwined beneath the furs, weary from their long journey and the night’s revelations, and when they woke in the morning they made love for the first time in weeks, and they knew any tension that had existed since the night of Brienne’s wedding had been overcome.


End file.
